


Quacks, Hawks and Paws

by Handsome_Wounded_Duck



Series: Marvel-lous Dogs [2]
Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Animal Rescue Charity... but superheroes, Canon-Typical Violence, Cute, Daredevil finds out what puppy love is, Deaf Clint Barton, Dogs, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hawkeye and Lucky are gonna help Matt achieve his dog-loving dreams, Human Disaster Clint Barton, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, M/M, Matt Murdock Needs a Hug, Oblivious Matt Murdock, Slow Burn, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, and it's gonna come with licks and wags, oops I guess they're falling in love now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 54,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21548569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Handsome_Wounded_Duck/pseuds/Handsome_Wounded_Duck
Summary: When Matt Murdock ends up accidentally adopting a stray dog, it comes as yet another chaotic addition to the mess that is his life. Daredevil isn't the only superhero with a love for canine companions - Hawkeye is more than eager to help out when it comes to rescuing dogs. When Clint and Matt accidentally meet outside of the vigilante world, the two of them find themselves getting along like a house on fire. But whilst Matt tries to juggle his life as a civilian and his life as a hero, can the vigilantes keep on top of all the animal-related crimes of Hell's Kitchen? Or will the two of them crash and burn amongst it's flames?(Want cute dogs, sweet fluff, a splash of occasional angst, and eventual romance? Then this is the fic for you! But fair warning, it's a slow burner.)
Relationships: Clint Barton & Matt Murdock, Clint Barton/Matt Murdock
Series: Marvel-lous Dogs [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564717
Comments: 64
Kudos: 127





	1. Sleepless Strays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Devil of Hell's Kitchen lies restless, unable to block out the sounds of his city at night. But he's not the only one wide awake - something is outside of his apartment. Something that's hurt. Something that's... fluffy?
> 
> (I had the idea of Matt's radar sense leading him to a stray dog, and I couldn't help but bring it to life.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The canon of this story is rather loose by the way - it's intended to be during the middle of Netflix's Daredevil season one, but I've added some backstory from the comics. I've also given Matt his red Daredevil suit that he gets at the end of season one, because why not? As for Hawkeye, he's from Fraction and Aja's run with the character, but there are some... differences. That you'll eventually learn about. Apologies in advance if this mix of canons ends up confusing anyone, but I just thought I'd clarify that this story is basically an AU now before you get into it.

The Devil of Hell's Kitchen isn't exactly an encyclopedia of knowledge when it comes to sleep, but he's pretty damn sure humans aren't meant to go three days without it.

It's night four of no sleep now, and Matt's lying sprawled across his couch, head buried beneath a pillow that his hands have pressed against his ears. He hates the feeling of the linen against his skin, but right now, he's beyond the point of caring. He just needs sleep, dammit - can't the city be quiet for one night?

There's been nothing but chaos this past week. Fisk's men have been all over town, as well as members of the Hand, and even Stilt-Man has made an appearance. Matt's been fighting and fighting and fighting, and with no time for a rest, of course sleep hasn't been an option. So Daredevil has soldiered on, ignoring the concerns of Foggy and Karen at work, desperate to keep his city safe from all of the villains that lurk within it's dark corners.

And yet... he's failed. Three nights in a row, Matt has failed to save people. The first night was a woman who had her purse stolen, and Matt had been unable to catch the thief before the purse had been robbed of anything that made it valuable. The second was a father begging for Daredevil to save his kidnapped son, but no matter how many goons Matt bested in fights, more came to smuggle the son away to a new prison. The third night had been a continuation of searching for that kid, and when Matt had finally found him, he'd also found a whole chain of other kidnapped children. Matt had tried his best to free them all, but out of the six he'd found, only three got out unscathed.

One injured. One lost and left behind. One who was shot down just as Matt had been sprinting back to save her...

Matt grips the pillow tightly and hurls it across the room, groaning as he smashes his hands against his ears. He turns onto his side and curls into a ball, rather akin to a hedgehog hiding from a predator. Surely God will spare him one night of peace? After all, all of the noise within Hell's Kitchen so far has just been bog standard sounds.

_Blaring car horns._

_Screaming wind._

_Pedestrians weaving in and out of each other._

_Drivers cursing beneath their breath._

_Rats scuttling through alley ways._

_A woman yelling._

_A man bellowing back._

_Tires screeching._

_Street lamps flickering--_

_Whimpering._

_...Whimpering?_

Slowly, Matt drags his body into a sitting position, forcing his hands away from his ears. He focuses, trying to hone in on the sound, almost uncertain that he even heard it.

_No, that's... That's definitely whimpering... Is someone hurt?_

So much for sleep. Matt stands on weary feet, trying to suppress a yawn as he fumbles for his mask left ungracefully on the coffee table and pulls it on. He's already in his scarlet Daredevil gear, having put it on as he'd assumed something else awful would happen tonight. After all, it's not like Fisk's men, the Hand and all the other villains are going to take a break on the same night.

The whimpering isn't far away - in fact, Matt's pretty sure it's coming from the alley way beside his apartment block. So he heads up to the roof, moving over to the fire escape and making sure to stealth his way down. He doesn't exactly know what's down there - he could be walking into anything - hence his choice to stealth. Now near the bottom of the fire escape, Matt goes to make his usual manoeuvre of dropping down behind the dumpster...

Tiredness really does take a toll on a man; Matt misplaces his foot on the railing, slipping, and suddenly he's tumbling head first into the dumpster with a crash that rings through the alley way.

Great. So much for the element of surprise.

Scrambling with his hands to work his way out of the trash, when Matt finally rolls out of the large container, he's suddenly very aware of the fact that he's not alone. There's another heart beating between these brick walls - a creature that's gaze seems locked on Matt, frozen in place. Both the hearts of Daredevil and the creature race once aware of each other, and Matt braces himself for anything as the creature suddenly moves towards him - trotting, running, lunging, and--

A rather large dog sits on Daredevil's left foot, tilting it's head to stare up at the man with it's tongue lolling out of it's mouth. It's a dog with long fur, a lengthy muzzle and a rather bushy tail, it's triangular ears stood up where they're atop it's head.

Matt... is very confused. Surely the whimpering from before couldn't belong to this dog? It doesn't seem hurt at all... There must be someone else here. Yet, as Matt tilts his head this way and that to try and detect anyone else in his alley way, he finds nothing - nothing but dumpsters, a couple of rats and, of course, the dog.

Speaking of the dog, it's surprisingly light, considering that it's sat on Matt's foot. It's still staring up at him, panting, and Matt can only imagine the dopey look on it's face, since he's pretty sure one of it's ears is flopped.

A lorry hurls past on the road beside the alley way, horn screaming as it goes. The dog reacts instantly, jumping out of it's skin as it throws itself off of Matt's foot, diving beside the dumpster with it's back curled in on itself like a cornered cat. Tail between legs, both ears flopped - whimpering...

Well, that confirms it - this is the person Daredevil came to save. A scared canine.

_Unable to sleep from all the noise..._

Matt sighs, and (despite the fact he's not really too fond of animals) speaks gently: "You're scared of traffic?"

He steps slowly towards the quivering canine, hands raised slightly to show that he's not a threat, "It's okay... It's not that scary, really."

The dog is still tense, but the tiny wag of it's curled up tail implies that Matt's presence is helping to somewhat calm it's nerves. So Daredevil steps closer, now beside the dog, and the canine takes the opportunity to nuzzle itself up against his legs, almost as if it's seeking shelter through the human. Seeking comfort from the bustling night of Hell's Kitchen.

Matt's pretty sure one of his friend has said something about how you should never give in to a stray - something like 'if you feed it it'll keep coming back'. But his exhausted body finds it so easy to sink to the floor and prop himself against the alley wall, to allow the dog to lie beside him and rest it's head upon his lap, that Matt doesn't really care. He's too busy running his hands through the dog's fur, gently untangling any knots, finding the softness of the canine's fluffy coat soothing to his skin. He learns a couple of things about the dog from touch alone - there's dried mud tangled in the fur, implying that the dog has probably been travelling around. The dog seems to press into his hand whenever Matt scratches behind it's ears, so the lawyer continues to pet it's head, listening to the way the dog's tail gently thump, thump, thumps against the pavement. Also - rather importantly - the dog doesn't have a collar. So maybe it's a stray? Or maybe it's just lost? Either way, the canine is skinny enough that Matt can feel it's bones through it's fur, and his brows furrow in concern.

"Are you hungry?" He asks softly. The dog doesn't reply, of course (Matt doesn't know why he even bothered to voice his thoughts aloud) and simply curls further into Matt's side instead, adjusting it's head on his lap a little. Part of Matt doesn't want to move, thinking that the dog seems so peaceful now. But another part of him knows that he's got some left over bits of chicken upstairs, and since they're going to go out of date tomorrow anyway...

...Oh, what the hell? Matt gently moves the dog's head off of his lap, pushing himself back to his feet, much to the confusion of the canine. It's ears prick up towards him (well, it's floppy one is as pricked up as it can get) and Matt senses how it's wagging tail comes to a halt.

Sympathy for the poor confused pooch washes over him, and Matt's very quick to explain himself, petting the dog's head as he does so, "Sorry, sorry... I'll be right back, okay?"

Daredevil moves as fast as his sleepy body can take him, heading up the fire escape and immediately to his fridge. When he starts to return with little bits of chicken in a sealed plastic wallet, Matt finds that the dog is sat at the bottom of the fire escape, tail curled tightly to it's body with it's gaze locked upon the alleys exit, ears flicked back as yet another car passes by...

It's nose twitches, and the dog's head immediately snaps upwards towards Matt, ears perking in interest. Matt can't help but smirk, a soft chuckle escaping him as he steps beside the canine, feeling a wet nose press against his hand that holds the plastic wallet.

"Hold on, hold on-" Matt says as the dog's tail rises, beginning to wag enthusiastically as Matt holds the bag out of it's reach and opens it. An excited bark escapes the canine, it's deep tone and suddenness surprising Matt enough to make him jolt, but the next thing he knows the piece of chicken he had offered is being licked right off of his hand.

Matt recoils temporarily, nose wrinkling in disgust at the saliva that coats his palm. But the dog barks and whines, sitting on his left foot just as it did when Matt first stepped into this alley way, and Daredevil suddenly understands why people warn each other not to give in to strays.

For the first time in his life, Matthew Murdock is smitten by puppy love, and it's all thanks to this sweet, scared and dopey pooch.

He ends up crouched on the ground as he slowly feeds bits of chicken to the dog, sensing how the canine enthusiastically wolfs them all down, but not once does it bite Matt's hand. It only ever licks, or if it does nibble, it's so gentle that Matt finds himself questioning whether or not the dog actually nibbled at all. Aren't big dogs like this one supposed to be tough and scary? They're usually working dogs, right? Loyal, obedient, but definitely swift and strong enough to take down a human should they wish to. And yet, here Matt is, allowing his palm to be licked clean by the dog with the wagging tail, said dog proceeding to nuzzle it's head against his palm again in hopes of receiving a scratch behind the ears.

_...Oh God, he can't leave this poor pooch all alone in the cold after this, can he?_

But Matt doesn't have time for a dog: he has work. He's a lawyer, for heaven's sake - he can't take a dog to his office, let alone to court! And what about his nightly activities? Daredevil can't be home for a dog when he's got people to save.

_As if he's been saving anyone lately..._

And what about food? Water? A bed? Toys? When would he ever walk the dog? How would he explain it's sudden appearance? What if the dog decides to run away whilst Matt's out from his home? What if--

The canine gently licks his cheek, and Matt's worries are instantly gone with the wind.

With a chunk of chicken tucked into his palm, Matt guides the dog carefully up the fire escape, before pushing open the door to his apartment. The warmth of his home immediately washes over him, and Matt can't help but feel drowsiness start to tug at his frame even more intensely than before. He tosses the chicken piece inside regardless, the paws of the dog pattering across the floor as it eagerly chases after the snack, Matt turning to close and lock the door behind himself. When he turns back around, he's expecting the dog to have returned to sitting on the lawyer's feet, thinking that it'll want more of the chicken. Instead, Matt senses the dog sniffing at his couch, before suddenly jumping up onto it and laying down.

"Hey!" Matt calls out, dragging his tiring self towards the dog, "No, no, you can't go on there. Off! Off? Down...? Ah, what's the command?" Matt had mumbled that last part beneath his breath, lifting up his mask a little to rub at his sleep-heavy face as the dog ignores any of his attempted commands, it's tongue lolling out of it's mouth as it wags it's tail against the couch's left arm.

Great... Matt's already seeing more reasons to regret this decision (which is very impressive considering that he can't see anything). He yawns, covering his mouth with the back of his hand as he does so, reminding him that he's still holding the plastic wallet. He feels inside, but he already knows that it's empty, placing the wallet on the coffee table with a weary sigh. The dog doesn't seem to understand why Matt has done this, slipping off the couch to investigate said wallet, but Matt doesn't register the small victory of having the dog get off of his couch. No, his mind is only really focused on one thing right now: sleep.

Feet shuffling towards his bedroom, Matt only pauses when he realises he's still in his Daredevil gear, having enough of a grip on his consciousness to think to take it off and safely store it in his hidden box. That leaves Matt in his boxers, the lawyer quickly heading into his bedroom to shuck on a random tank top, before eagerly turning towards his bed...

...Only to find a dog is already occupying it.

"Seriously?" Matt mumbles, barely audible due to how heavy with sleep his voice is. The dog's only response is a tail wag and a small bark.

Matt knows he should make the dog get off of his bed. Knows he should probably lay out a blanket for the canine in the kitchen, give it it's own space so that it knows where it should sleep. But instead, he finds himself flopping down on his bed beside the dog, pulling the silk sheets beneath his chin with a sigh. There's movement on the pillows as paws crawl along them, and suddenly a wet nose is pressed against Matt's shoulder, sniffing along until it finds Matt's face. The dog gives Matt a single lick on the cheek, and then it turns away to curl in on itself, tail still softly thumping against the sheets.

The tail thumping would probably be annoying if it weren't such a great distraction. Because instead of blaring car horns, Matt's listening to the wagging tail. Instead of hearing screaming wind, Matt can sense the way the dog's chest rises slowly up and down with every steady breath. And instead of flickering street lamps, Matt listens to the rhythmic heart beat of a content and thankful dog, the soothing sound gently sending the devil of Hell's Kitchen off to sleep.

_Seems like he did save someone, after all..._

[🐕]

The next day, when Matt will wake up to a wet face and the smell of dreadful dog breath, he'll wonder why on Earth he didn't think to call a dog rescue last night.

...Well, at least some mistakes are happy ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dogs are great man. And guess what? It's shameless plug time! I have another story about a certain Hawkeye's dog (Lucky) if you wanna check that out. It's called "a Pizza Man and his Pizza Dog", and you can find it in the 'Marvel-lous Dogs' series that this story is attached to.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you have a paw-some day! ^_^


	2. The Hound of Hell's Kitchen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having finally slept, Matt has gained his senses enough to actually think about what to do with the dog. But not before Foggy has anything to say about it... Oops?
> 
> Hey, at least the dog finally gets a name!

"So let me get this straight," Foggy - stood in Matt's apartment - presses his palms together as if he were praying, before quickly bringing them down so that the tips of his fingers point towards the blind man on the couch as he continues to speak, "You woke up at midnight, and decided: 'Hey! You know what's a good idea? Going for a walk through the alleyways! Alone, at midnight - totally not dangerous!'."

"I know..." Matt mumbles gingerly from the couch, hands running through the soft fur of the dog's head to comfort himself. Said pooch is sprawled across the couch with it's head on Matt's lap, eyes closed from the pleasant stroking behind it's ears, tail idly wagging slowly.

Foggy's palms come apart as he continues on his rant, one of his hands gesturing towards the canine, "And then you find this German Shepard. And you think 'Hey! You know what's another good idea? Taking in a random animal I found on the streets!'."

Matt sighs, his right hand coming up to rub at his forehead from stress, "I'm not exactly proud of this, Foggy..."

"Oh, I'm aware." Foggy clarifies, before shrugging, arms crossing over his chest, "I'm just kind of amazed that you out of all people would give in to a stray. Well, 'stray'... Have you gotten him checked for a microchip?"

Matt shakes his head no. He feels the slightly wet nudge of a certain pooch's nose against his right arm, so lowers his hand back to the dog's head, continuing to pet it softly, in response to which the dog lowers it's head back down and relaxes once again. It's tail is making a quiet thumping noise against the back of the couch now, but the blind man doesn't mind too much - it's just subtle background noise to tell him that his four legged companion is happy. That's a much better sound to have in the back of his mind than the sprawling chaos of Hell's Kitchen during the early hours of Saturday, so the blind man is more than eager to keep the attention of his enhanced senses upon the wagging tail and his best friend, who he's pretty sure is turning his head back and forth between himself and the German Shepard.

Foggy sighs softly, and Matt raises an eyebrow in confusion at the noise. Foggy's sigh hadn't been angry or stressed - unlike how the lawyer had responded this morning to Matt's phone call about how he has no idea what to do with this dog he accidentally took in three days ago. Foggy had literally just been scolding him mere minutes ago: 'Midnight, Matt! You could have been mugged in those alleys, or something worse!' as well as 'You know nothing about this dog! What if it has fleas? Rabies?!'. And yet, Foggy's sigh just now had almost sounded... happy?

"Look at you two." he says, his voice more akin to Foggy's usual friendly tone than earlier. Detecting a little dopamine spike from his best friend, Matt knows that there's even a small grin on Foggy's face as he continues: "...You know, it's been a while since I've seen you smile like that."

The blind man suddenly registers that, yes, he is indeed smiling. In fact, he's probably been smiling since the German Shepard had bounded onto the couch and laid it's head in his lap, acting oblivious to the way Foggy and Matt had tried to coax it off. If the dog wanted to snuggle, snuggles it would get, since it has apparently figured out that it can get away with bloody murder in Matt's presence... and dammit, the blind man can't help but find that cocky attitude endearing.

Matt averts his face with an embarrassed expression, smile now awkward, but still sincere (for once), "Ah, shut up..."

Foggy chuckles, uncrossing his arms, "No way! You really should smile more often Matt. And if it takes a dog to do it... mayyyybe you should have clued Karen and I in on this a little sooner. Then you could have got a dog without having to wait for one to literally show up at your doorstep."

The blonde man crouches in front of the couch, simply because there's no way he can sit on it with the dog laying across it like that. But Foggy doesn't seem to mind anymore, because after a little hesitation, he gently rests a hand on the German Shepard's fur and begins to stroke across the dog's side. Said pooch only acknowledges Foggy by opening an eye to clock him, before closing it again almost immediately, relaxing with a small content sigh. The little doggy sigh makes Matt's smile grow, which he desperately tries to hide by nibbling his bottom lip, but the grin definitely didn't slip past Foggy's glance towards his friend. He sighs again, in a fond 'oh, what am I going to do with you?' sort of way.

"Okay..." Foggy says after their brief moment of silence, "Okay... so... We take the dog to the vet. Get it checked, see if it really is a stray. And if it is... what do you wanna do with it?"

Ah, the million dollar question. What _does_ Matt want to do with the dog? He ruffles it's fur between his hands, gently smoothing it down again afterwards, feels the dog shift slightly to get more comfortable, it's muzzle now gently resting atop his thigh... and begins to think seriously about this whole situation.

Yes, the dog is sweet, and has somehow managed to sweep the vigilante clean off of his feet despite Matt's generally neutral feelings towards most animals. But it's still a dog - still a huge commitment. There's the money that needs to be spent on a dog bed, dog food, walking equipment... not to mention walking itself is probably going to be an issue. Matt barely has time for a coffee break thanks to his work schedule sometimes, let alone time to walk a dog. And what about his double life as Daredevil? When will he ever be home to actually take care of this poor dog?

"I..." Matt shakes his head a little, probably looking as lost as he feels, "I don't know... I'm not going to lie, I like the dog."

"Obviously." Foggy mumbles, receiving a slightly irritated expression from Matt in response, to which his fellow lawyer merely smirks at.

"But," Matt continues regardless, "I just don't have time for it. You know how busy we've been lately - I've got work to do, and..." _and I'm Daredevil,_ "...and church..."

Foggy doesn't even try to hide his laughter at that mumbled last part, laughing so hard that he ends up burying his face in the dog's fur. The German Shepard lifts it's muzzle up immediately, staring at Foggy with a curious tilt of it's head, before it's tongue lolls out of it's mouth as it's tail wags more frantically. Two excited barks are the only warning Foggy gets before the dog decides it's time to play, twisting it's body so that it can attempt to lick Foggy's face. Matt responds immediately, trying to pull the dog back to his lap to prevent it from assaulting his friend's face, but it's too late. Foggy is covered in doggy saliva, nose wrinkling in disgust, but still chuckling as he gently tries to push the dog away.

"Stop, no, down - down, boy, down, stop!" Matt continues to yell random command words, hoping something will get the dog to stop. But the German Shepard pays him no heed, bounding onto the floor to pounce at Foggy, barking gleefully as it's tail wags fast enough that Matt's senses are struggling to keep track of it's speed. That's not what his senses are focused on, however - no, they're focused on the way that the dog apparently doesn't know it's own strength, because one little pounce with it's two front paws has resulted in the German Shepard pinning Foggy to the floor.

"Hey!" Foggy's hands are pushing against the dog's chest, still laughing frantically as his face is continuously licked, "Hey, c'mon, get off me!"

Matt rushes to his feet, about to attempt to yank the German Shepard off of his friend in slight panic, but the dog seems to decide that it's given enough licks for today. It bounds off of Foggy, but doesn't stop there, racing towards the kitchen at break neck speed. Foggy sits up on the floor, turning his head to observe the dog as it disappears behind the counters, before rushing back out again to run past the couch. It sprints off into Matt's room, barking merrily as it goes, before bursting back out again mere moments later, accidentally going too fast and stumbling slightly as it goes. But this stumble leads to the dog spotting it's tail, skidding to a halt in front of the door to Matt's apartment just to stare at the fluff that dangles behind it's body... before the German Shepard begins to spin, racing round and round and round in circles as it barks at it's tail, teeth snapping occasionally in determination to catch it's target.

The two lawyers simply stare towards the dog for a while (well, Matt's head is aimed in the general direction) before their heads tilt back to gaze at each other instead... and the two burst out laughing. They laugh for a solid few minutes, the German Shepard paying them no heed as it continues to pursue it's tail, before eventually the two friends calm down, simply smiling towards the dog now as it finally comes to a halt, flopping onto the floor out of exhaustion. But the slow wagging of it's tail indicates that the burst of energy had been worth it for the resulting fun.

"Well," Foggy wipes the back of his sleeves over his face, getting rid of any left over doggy saliva, "The dog's certainly something."

"Yeah." Matt simply replies, not bothering to attempt to hide his smile. There's something so peaceful about watching the content state of the now sleepy dog, it's wagging tail still perfect background noise for Matt's senses to block out most of the ever present city outside his apartment.

Foggy glances towards his friend's smile with a thoughtful expression... before he pushes himself up from the floor to take a seat on Matt's now empty couch. He begins to speak as the blind man opts to take the empty space beside him, "You know Matt, with all the crime rates lately... we could probably use a guard dog in the office."

Matt's head immediately snaps towards Foggy's direction, full attention on his friend simply out of shock at what he's suggesting. Foggy smirks, and continues talking, "Well, legally, it wouldn't be a guard dog. More like a... a 'looks intimidating but wouldn't actually hurt a fly' dog. Or, you know, maybe it could become a guide dog, since you're the one that's going to be keeping it."

Oh... oh, that could work! If the dog went to work with Matt, then he'd be able to take care of it during the day. That means it wouldn't be so cruel to leave it alone at night as Daredevil, as the dog should have had all of it's daily needs met during the light hours.

"But Foggy, a dog in the office..." Matt can already guess how much mess the German Shepard could create thanks to it's random bouts of playfulness. The amount of times it's nearly knocked over Matt's lamps and tables over these past three days is quite astounding, if he's honest...

"As long as it doesn't go into the storage room, it'll be fine." Foggy explains, shrugging, "And knowing Karen, she'll be on board with this too."

Matt hesitates again, mind filling up with more worries as he opens his mouth to voice them, but Foggy cuts him off: "Seriously, Matt, it'll be fine! And if it'll keep you smiling like that... then it'll totally be worth the little bits of chaos every now and then."

The blind man can sense the sincerity behind his friend's words, and he sighs, finally giving in with a small nod. Foggy grins in response, slipping his phone out of his pocket, turning it on and tapping away at the screen.

"Okay, so, we call a vet to book an appointment," he voices aloud simply to explain what he's doing to Matt, "And we chock this down as a happy accident. Though, don't get any ideas - I swear, if you keep going into the alley ways at night, the criminals aren't the ones I'm going to be beating up Matt."

The blind man laughs softly at the accidental irony, "I get the picture."

There's a yawn from across the room, and Matt senses the way that the dog shifts to curl in on itself, having begun to drift asleep during the discussion between the two lawyers. The small smile never leaves the blind man's face, using his senses to focus in on the dog's calming heartbeat, guessing that the pooch is probably starting to dream from the way it spikes ever so slightly every now and then.

"So," Foggy unknowingly breaks the peace that was starting to take over Matt's mind, "If it is a stray, what are you gonna name it?"

Oh yeah! Names! Those are a thing, aren't they? Which means that this is the perfect time for Matt's mind to draw blanks.

"...Um..."

[🐕]

A week passes, and the dog still doesn't have a name.

The trip to the vets had been a short one, since apart from being underweight, the only other problem with the German Shepard was that it simply didn't have a microchip. The vet had explained to Matt and Foggy that the area where the microchip should have been had some scars that implied a surgery had occurred, almost as if the chip had been intentionally extracted. Which - considering that the tissues in a dog's skin grow around microchips to keep them in place - is normally something a vet would never put a dog through, since the data on microchips can so easily be updated online. So why would someone want to remove the dog's microchip so badly...?

Regardless of the reason, the German Shepard was definitely considered a stray, since without a microchip or a collar, there was no way to trace the poor pooch back to any potential owners. So Matt sheepishly explained his plans to take it in, the vet seeming delighted by this proposition, smiling throughout the rest of the examination of the teal eyed stray (Matt learns it's eye colour from the vet and Foggy). The dog was given a couple of vaccines and a dietary plan to help it gain some weight, and after filling in some paperwork about future vet visits (particularly ones about getting the German Shepard a new microchip) Matt and Foggy leave with a gleeful pooch trotting along beside them.

Matt had been asked for the dog's name by the vets, and had simply told them he'd get back to them with it.

The next dog related thing he does is all thanks to Karen. She'd offered to join Matt on his quest to get his dog it's own bed to sleep in (because Matt wasn't sure how much longer he could deal with being woken up by licks to the face) but they'd gotten out of hand. Along with the bed came heaps of dog food, a couple of bone-shaped chew toys, a rope to play tug-of-war with, and even a proper leash to replace the lousy string Matt had been attaching to the dog and his walking stick. Karen had spotted a collar too - one that she described to be the same scarlet colour as Matt's glasses - and had suggested buying it, so that the dog could be protected and identified more easily.

"You have finally thought of a name, right?" She asks.

"...Well..." All Matt can do is offer an awkward smile.

The third time he's asked for the dog's name is the same night he crawls home with two stab wounds. Daredevil had messed up - been spotted by some Russian gangsters whilst trying to slip past them - and had paid the price. Now he's lying sprawled on his couch with an open med kit thrown across the coffee table, waiting for Claire to arrive after having called her about how he's ran out of bandages, mind too clouded by pain to really think straight. He only remembers that he even has a pet when the door flies open and Claire is immediately sent crashing to the floor, having tripped over the dog that was helpfully lying directly in front of the entryway.

"Watch out..." Matt slurs very quietly (due to blood loss). Blind or not, he can _feel_ the scalding glare from the woman on the floor.

"Matt." Claire very simply states - stern, sharp, and to the point: "Explain."

And so, Matt tells the story of a stray dog and a sleepy man whilst getting his stab wounds patched up, said dog moving over to observe Claire work her magic with apparent intrigue. The German Shepard even nudges at some of the medical equipment with his muzzle every now and then, Claire having to move the med kit's items this way and that in fear of the dog stealing them if it becomes too curious.

"I still haven't named it..." Matt explains to conclude his story, idly stroking the dog behind the ears to distract it from attempting to steal a bandage for the sixth time.

"Well, if you don't name it fast enough," Claire's lip curls with a teasing smile, neatly finishing up her stitching so she can glance at Matt as she says her next words: "I'm going to end up naming it 'nuisance'."

At the end of the day, you can't say Claire didn't give the blind man some incentive. He's now sat in the mini kitchen at work at the end of a long Friday, hands resting around his coffee mug for warmth as the cogs in his mind turn over and over again. It really shouldn't take a week to name a dog, should it? Matt's just continuously put it off, always too busy with other things to do in his life. Besides, the dog doesn't listen to commands unless it wants to anyway - a name isn't going to miraculously change that cocksure attitude, is it?

"Dammit Karen!" Foggy explodes at the end of the table, "Tell me what you know!"

Ah, yes, Matt had almost forgot. They were playing Cluedo(*), weren't they? Matt's not sure why they're playing it just the two of them, but he's not exactly going to complain or question his friends when they're apparently having such a good time. They'd seemed eager to play the game after work tonight - maybe from something about Karen supposedly being really good at it? Who knows? Either way, Matt hadn't been able to play with them, since the game requires sight in order to keep your cards a secret. But he didn't mind - it just meant that he got to silently listen to the chaos as it unfolds, grinning from the way Karen giggles in almost wicked delight at Foggy's outburst.

"I don't have the candle, I swear!" She explains through her laughter, Foggy huffing from his side of the table. His head shifts left and right as he frantically scans his notes and his cards again, before sighing deeply.

Foggy seems at a loss; "But if it's not the candle... then what? What is it?!"

"Guess you'll find out next turn, Colonel Mustard." Karen quips, rolling the dice. She moves her character along the board with a faint tap, tap, tap, upon it's surface. Her little character must go in a direction that Matt assumes is towards the centre, because Foggy suddenly splutters out:

"No way are you trying to guess!"

Matt doesn't need vision to see Karen's smug smirk, "Yes way I am trying to guess."

"But Miss Scarlet," Foggy decides to get silly (a self defence mechanism perhaps) putting on a pathetic attempt at a posh accent, "There's no way you could have possibly deduced the answer in so little time!"

"Elementary, my dear Mustard." Karen retorts in an equally stupid accent, but Matt doesn't catch the rest of the beautiful nonsense. His focus has shifted, the cogs of his mind zoning in on one of the words Foggy said.

_Deduced... Deduce... Deuce... Deuce?_

"Deuce is a nice name." Matt mumbles at a volume he thought was quiet enough to remain for his ears only. But clearly he's a little off the mark, because Foggy and Karen's heads are turning in his direction in confusion.

"Huh?" Foggy comments, eyebrows scrunched together, one of them ever so slightly raised, "...Deuce is not a name?"

"It is now." Matt simply states, starting to smile, raising his mug to his lips to finish off his coffee.

The room is silent for a while... and then the implications click in Foggy and Karen's minds. "No." Foggy immediately announces, "Matt, you can't name your dog Deuce."

"Why not?" Matt replies, standing from his chair to wash his coffee mug at the sink, towel on stand-by to dry it off.

"Because it's not a name!" Foggy answers as if it were obvious.

"Isn't Deuce like the tennis score?" Karen adds to the discussion, just to back up Foggy's claims, "Otherwise, at a stretch... it kinda sounds like the Spanish word for 'two'?"

"Matt, you can't name your dog 'tennis score'." Foggy continues talking on to deaf ears, the blind man returning his dried mug to it's rightful cabinet, before picking up his walking cane to cross the room towards his canine friend, "And you definitely can't name him 'number two'! That's even worse!"

Matt's reply is nonchalant, the blind man pausing in his steps to speak over his shoulder to the two people still seated at the table, "You're really looking too deeply into this."

"Says the man who's taken a week to name his dog." Karen mumbles, receiving a humoured snort from Foggy in response, Matt's smile reversing from being called out so easily. The blind man shrugs, turning back towards the German Shepard, who's lifted it's muzzle up to gaze curiously towards the three human's after the discussion of names had begun.

"Well, let's see what he thinks of it." Matt declares, waving his right hand towards himself ever so slightly to try and get the dog's attention, "Deuce, come. Come, Deuce."

Normally, the dog would ignore him. Normally, it would even have the balls to straight up yawn in Matt's face and go back to sleep. But instead, the German Shepard softly barks, and swiftly makes it's way to it's feet, moving over to Matt's side. It's head tilts obediently up towards him, tail wagging casually back and forth as it does so.

The shocked silence from the human's in response is almost deafening. Foggy's jaw drops, one of Karen's hands moves upwards to cover her surprised mouth, and Matt is so astounded that he immediately tries to figure out how he just got the dog to obey him. If he doesn't get it right now, this gift may never come again.

"Hold on a second..." Matt mumbles, a metaphorical light bulb glowing above his forehead, "Spanish for number two... Deuce? Deuce, sentar."

The German Shepard steps beside it's master and sits on his foot, leaning against Matt whilst gazing up at him just as it did the night they met. Perfectly having followed the command Matt had given to 'sit'...

"...Are you serious?" Foggy blurts out after another awe-filled pause from the group, "All this time spent trying every command word under the sun... and you just needed to say them in Spanish?!"

"¡Chico listo(**)!" Matt praises, chuckling at the whole situation as he scratches gently behind the German Shepard's ears. In response, the dog's tongue lolls out as it nuzzles it's head back into Matt's hand, and the blind man can feel the fluff of a tail softly hitting itself against his leg in a rhythmic manner thanks to the dog's wags of delight.

It took a week and a half, but the stray finally graduated to a pet, complete with a crimson collar and a name of it's own. Deuce the Spanish nuisance, who's licks were worse than it's bite, loyal companion and bed-snatcher of the blind Catholic lawyer Matt Murdock. And what about those long nights when Daredevil finally came home to his apartment, sometimes injured, but usually just exhausted? A German Shepard with a wagging tail was always waiting inside, quick to greet it's master with licks to keep him awake enough to crawl into his pyjamas, or to remain protectively by his side whilst the blind man heals his wounds. With each passing day, the endless bustle of the sprawling city grew quieter and quieter, replaced by the sound of paws that patter across kitchen and bathroom tiles; of gleeful barking from Deuce playing with one of it's toys; of soft snoring from a dozing dog that has stolen all of the space on Matt's couch. Matt finds himself sleeping better and better, to the point that Daredevil has managed to maintain an almost peak condition, allowing him to finally track down and rescue the kidnapped kids that he lost the night before he met Deuce. Daredevil had gone from saving nobody to saving every person he'd tried to help...

_And it's all because a dopey dog wanted a friend._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (*) Dear American's: Cluedo = Clue. I refuse to conform to your weird choice to drop the last two letters. Deal with it bro. XD  
(**)This means 'Smart boy!' in Spanish. Hopefully I got that right - Spanish speakers, please correct me if it's wrong! Thank you~!


	3. Puppy Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, dogs aren't the only new friends that Matt's going to make. Hopefully red goes nicely with purple.

With every passing night, the temperature drops. Winter is coming to Hell's Kitchen, putting out the forge at last to replace it with a bone-chilling breeze. But dogs still need their walkies, so Matt is braving the cold with his cotton scarf wrapped around his neck and the bottom half of his face. In one hand, he holds his walking cane that swings neatly back and forth in front of him, and in the other he holds the lead that's attached to Deuce's collar, his German Shepard sticking close to his side and away from the road to their right. They walk in peace, only stopping occasionally when Deuce shies into Matt's legs due to passing traffic, but they soon turn a corner and head towards the park where the pair can relax.

Coming towards them through the park, however, is a man and a dog with the complete opposite atmosphere about them.

The tall stranger with a slack beanie atop short hair isn't really walking the dog - no, the medium sized canine is definitely walking him. The dog has short fur and ears that flop down beside it's face, it's long and broad tail held high and wagging as it moves. There seems to be something wrong with the dog's eyes, as Matt can sense that one of them is sealed tightly shut whilst the other remains open and normal (giving off the impression that the dog is permanently winking). But the canine clearly doesn't care about this fact, gleefully pulling along by the lead. It pauses to allow it's long muzzle to sniff at a lamp post, before yanking it's yawning owner back into walking again as the dog marches off towards a new scent.

Matt assumes that the dog and it's owner will just pass himself and Deuce by, but that's not the case. The canine suddenly pauses (a confused grunt coming from it's half asleep dog walker, rubbing at his right eye with a large coat sleeve) it's head turning and locking upon Matt and Deuce... and suddenly the stranger is wide awake as his dog takes off sprinting towards Deuce at such a speed that the man is sent crashing to the floor, dropping his lead in the process.

"Aww, Lucky..." the dog walker mumbles something else, but Matt doesn't register it. His focus is upon the approaching canine, the blind man tensing dramatically and freezing in place. He doesn't know what to do - should he protect Deuce from the bolting dog? Or is he over thinking this? Deuce merely tilts it's head at Matt in confusion, before it's non-floppy ear twitches as the new dog offers a playful bark, the German Shepard glancing it's head back towards said canine curiously.

Much to Matt's immense relief, the new medium sized dog isn't hostile at all... but it's playful pounce at Deuce does result in both dogs getting tangled in each other's leashes.

"Aww sheesh..." Matt hears the new canine's owner mumble, said tall man having scrambled to his feet and raced after his dog. He now stands before Matt, and the blind man can tell from the dog walker's heartbeat that he's beyond nervous, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck, "Sorry man... Here, I'll um- let me help."

He crouches down before Matt can tell him that it's fine, beginning to try and untangle the two dogs, who are still attempting to play with each other despite their limbs being wound by the fabrics of their leashes. Matt sighs, about to crouch and attempt to join the man in rescuing their dogs from themselves, but he pauses, noting an odd sound within the air. Buzzing? Soft buzzing from a specific place...

Concentrating on the noise allows Matt to figure out that the buzzing is coming from behind the dog walker's ears. Perhaps a hearing aid of some description? It seems fairly new from how strong and slightly irritating the buzzing is, and-

_...Wait..._

_A hearing aid... that voice... that heartbeat pattern..._

Sometimes, being Daredevil comes in handy. It allows you to recognise people you thought you'd never see again.

"Hawkeye?" Matt asks in disbelief.

The 'stranger' freezes in his actions, head snapping up towards the blind man with wide eyes... before they narrow into confused slits, "...Yeah? That's me."

Now, here's where being Matt Murdock comes not so in handy. Daredevil and Hawkeye met through a fight - over Black Widow of all things - which resulted in Hawkeye shooting a phosphorous arrow at Matt, attempting to blind his foe. Matt hadn't realised anything was wrong at first, until Hawkeye's pause in the middle of their fighting made him register that he was supposed to respond to something.

Solution? Daredevil overreacted. 'Aaaah! My eyes! The paaain! The paaaain--!'. Whether or not Hawkeye actually fell for his fake cries and exaggerated flailing arms is something Matt still isn't sure of, because the next thing he'd known, they'd been back to fighting like nothing had happened.

If Matt were currently in his Daredevil gear, he'd have a valid reason as to how he recognised Hawkeye. But as himself: a random blind lawyer? As far as his friends are concerned, Matt was the kind of guy who only remembered the Avengers as 'Iron Man, Captain America, hammer man, the big green guy and the other two' - the complete opposite of someone who could recognise Hawkeye without any of his gear on.

Hawkeye's heartbeat is shifting from confused to suspicious at the pause, so Matt panics himself into improvising. And how does Matt Murdock improvise? Overreacting, of course.

"Sorry," Matt pretends to get all giddy, hands shyly playing with his cane from where he's stood, allowing himself to show a timid smile because his nerves are the only thing he's not faking, "I'm just... I'm a big fan."

There's a bit of a pause, which Matt guesses from the way Hawkeye's heart skips a beat is because his words shocked the archer into silence. His eyes have widened again, and when Hawkeye's heart returns to a normal pace, Matt doesn't need to see to know there's a genuinely flattered smile gracing his features (thanks to a pretty big dopamine spike). Hawkeye goes to scratch at the back of his neck out of bashfulness, opening his mouth to say something, but Deuce and it's new canine friend bark as they continue to play, tangling themselves further in the leads. Matt's arm is almost yanked out of it's socket as they do so, so he quickly drops his leash with a sigh, crouching on the ground beside Hawkeye and the hyper dogs as awkwardly as he can.

Got to keep acting awkward and star struck, because Matt is totally Hawkeye's biggest fan... and totally doesn't feel bad at all about lying to this man when the archer seemed so genuinely surprised and complimented to have somebody recognise him. At least there's a distraction in the form of their chaotic dogs, Hawkeye shooting Matt a very sheepish smile, "I'm real sorry about Lucky, man. He's just, he doesn't normally get so excited, but I gave him a bit of pizza earlier and I think he's just..." Hawkeye seems to struggle to find the right words, shrugging as he settles on: "Getting it... outta his... system?"

Matt laughs softly - his nerves can still be detected through it, which actually fits perfectly with his 'fanboy' gag - "It's alright. Deuce isn't usually so excited either. Then again, we've only ever ran into small dogs before..."

"Your dog's name is Deuce?" the Avenger asks, raising a curious eyebrow at Matt.

Matt's nervous smile slips into an awkward one. Is he going to get the same lecture Foggy and Karen gave him about his naming choices from a superhero of all people? "...Yes?"

Hawkeye mouths the name beneath his breath, his head turning back towards the German Shepard that's currently pawing at Lucky with a thoughtful expression, before smiling sweetly, "It's a nice name."

"Exactly!" Matt blurts out before he could stop himself, Hawkeye's head snapping towards him in shock of the sudden outburst. Matt meanwhile, tenses up, his facial expression now just as embarrassed and nervous as he feels, "Sorry... Just... My friends said it wasn't a name..."

"...Well, I mean," Hawkeye's smile slips into a sort of amused smirk, "They're not, um, not wrong. You did name your dog after a tennis thing... Buuut, that makes it unique! So guess, err- guess that makes you the 'winner' here, huh?"

Hawkeye chuckles to himself, and Matt can't help but join in. Something in his gut starts to twist, reminding him of the creeping sense of guilt from lying to this man that's being nothing but kind to him. Then again, Matt has been lying to his own best friend for years... so this lurking guilt is nothing compared to the tsunami's he feels every time he adds to the mountain of lies he's given to Foggy...

"Oh, yeah, names," Hawkeye mumbles, snapping Matt out of his darkening thoughts, like sun rays piercing a black cloud, "I'm Clint, by the way."

"Matthew," Matt replies politely, before remembering he's supposed to be some giddy fanboy, quickly making his next words sound a little sheepish, "But you- you can call me Matt."

Clint smirks, and Matt re-adjusts his glasses and his scarf, trying to pretend that he's acting out some anxious tics. But bless God for His creation of dogs, because Deuce and Lucky yap playfully at each other as they roll around in their self-made binds, reminding their owners of why they're crouched on the ground in the first place.

"We should... should probably..." Clint awkwardly begins, struggling to remember the right word. He yawns and rubs at one of his eyes, seemingly having relaxed enough that his body is slipping back into the sleepy state that he was in earlier - the state that resulted in their canines getting tangled in their leads.

"Untie them." Matt supplies helpfully, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

The flames of Matt's world on fire bob rapidly up and down beside the archer's head. This confuses the blind man at first, before he hears Clint quickly spluttering out, "Nod- I just- I nodded... yeah..."

After fifteen minutes of a blind man and a deaf man awkwardly scrambling on the ground with two dogs (and receiving a whole load of weird looks from fellow park visitors) Deuce and Lucky are almost out of their self-inflicted predicament. Matt has managed to work Deuce's leash off of Lucky, now holding it relatively high in the air to try and prevent the dogs from getting caught in it again (but not too high, otherwise Deuce would choke). Lucky, meanwhile, just won't stay still - every time Clint unwraps a part of the second lead from Deuce, Lucky shifts in such a way that Clint has to start unwrapping the fabric all over again. Eventually, the archer gives in with a sigh, un-clipping the lead from Lucky's collar. The Labrador (as Clint has informed Matt that he is during their small talk) bolts away, woofing gleefully with a tail wagging so fast that even Matt's radar sense struggles to see it, registering it as nothing but a fiery blur behind the Labrador. The lawyer's lead, meanwhile, simply drops to the floor around frozen paws, a very confused German Shepard tilting it's head up towards its blind owner and a deaf stranger. Deuce's cyan gaze casts itself back and forth between the two humans for a while, before its mouth drops open in a pant that gives the impression of a dopey smile, only made cuter by it's ever-floppy ear.

Clint chuckles at the sight, quickly asking Matt for permission to pet the pooch, before scratching calloused fingers behind Deuce's ears, "Aww, who's a good boy?" Deuce's tail begins to wag immediately, a soft content 'ruff' coming from the canine as it steps closer to Clint and Matt, sitting directly in front of them in order to achieve maximum petting.

Matt smiles softly, lowering the hand holding his leash to settle it back on his cane. He lifts up his second hand to pet his dog alongside the grinning archer, but it pauses half way towards it's destination. There's something going on up ahead - something involving Lucky. Matt's world on fire can hear paws crushing dew out of the pitiful grass beneath them, the Labrador currently bouncing up and down at another stranger's legs; no surprise there, considering how playful Lucky is. Either way, said stranger is a rather tall woman, hair pushed up into a dangling pony tail, some sort of large burn scar scrawled across the right hand side of her face. She's carrying a generic, medium-sized cardboard box with duct tape wrapped around it, and Matt can taste sea salt in the air from the woman's clothes as she tries to dismiss the enthusiastic Lucky. Huh... this lady must have come from the harbour, which isn't too far away. But carrying a cardboard box that also reeks of sea salt? Specifically one that Lucky seems to be trying to sniff (as the echoes of his sniffing bounce off of the cardboard instead of the lady)? That's... a little more odd.

_Especially when Matt's pretty sure he can hear five tiny heart beats within the box..._

"You alright Matt?" Clint's worried question snaps Matt out of his fixation on the scene ahead, the blind man suddenly aware that Hawkeye's heartbeat is flickering with concern. But hey, that's what you get when you freeze up so suddenly and are still holding your hand in mid air above your dogs head... so Matt clears his throat and retracts his hand back onto his cane (much to Deuce's disappointment) rotating his shoulders backwards just a little bit to try and make himself seem less tense.

"Nothing..." Matt lies, "It's just... I don't think that lady likes Lucky very much."

Clint quirks an eyebrow, before turning his gaze towards where Lucky dashed away to the now panicked woman, his body tensing up immediately. Clint splutters something to Matt about needing a sex (probably meant 'sec') before he's sprinting off, calling out apologies to the sea salt lady as he goes to fetch Lucky. Matt, meanwhile, does the complete opposite - he tugs gently on Deuce's lead, his German Shepard moving to his side, before the blind man speed walks as swiftly as possible out of the park. Once he thinks he's out of sight of Clint and the sea salt lady, Matt starts to sprint, confused canine matching his speed all the way back to their apartment.

Good thing the park is only a few blocks away from home. Might just give Matt enough time to leave his dog in a safe place and get in his Daredevil gear, before he loses track of the woman and whatever she's carrying in that taped up box...

[🦆]

Crouched upon the ledge of a rooftop, Daredevil could easily be mistaken for a misplaced gargoyle as his head tilts this way and that. The city is as vibrant as always, the flames of Hell's Kitchen dancing upon the horizon as Matt gazes towards them, studying the shifting sands of his world on fire and trying to make sense of it. Sea salt lady left the park before Matt was able to reach it, but she can't be far. It's just a matter of finding the correct person amongst the forty five thousand people that live in Hell's Kitchen...

A needle in a haystack comes to mind.

Thankfully, Daredevil has ways of finding that needle. He starts with taste, thinking that sea salt should be distinct enough amongst the crowds of pedestrians, which usually just carry the taste of coffee, sweat and various deodorants. Unfortunately, any chance of detecting sea salt within the city is overshadowed by the vast amounts of said flavour coming from the nearby harbour's. Since the lady was heading deeper into the city, Matt doubts she would have back-tracked to the docks just because a dog wanted to say hello.

_One sense down. Three more to go._

How about smell? Sea salt wasn't the only thing that lady had smelt of - a faint whiff of petrol had been masked beneath it all, particularly located under her finger nails. Once again, however, the smell is not distinct enough. The endless car horns that echo in the back of Matt's mind mix with the ever present odour of petrol and diesel, all spiralling from the exhausts of traffic-locked vehicles and twisting up into the whistling winds of Hell's Kitchen.

_Two senses gone. Two left to try._

Matt slows his breathing and focuses his attention on the sounds of the world around him. The flames of his unique vision flicker and shift, forming dancing embers of various residents of Hell's Kitchen, all passing him on nearby streets and within close alley ways, unaware of the Devil perched above them. All he needs is to find the heartbeat of one specific lady, or to find five little heart beats all bundled together in a confined box. Matt concentrates, face scrunching up as he does so, head twisting this way and that like a security camera desperate to catch a crime in the act.

_Dammit. Three senses down. One more to-_

Weighted footsteps echo at the entrance of the alley below Daredevil - weighted by the box within the walkers arms.

_Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum; sea salt mingles within her sweat drenched brow._

Apparently, lady luck has smiled on Matt today. Shifting into a crouch, he concentrates on the footsteps, waits until the speed walking woman moves into just the right position... before jumping down into the alley way.

Landing in front of the woman, sea salt lady lets out a startled screech, eyes shooting wide open as she immediately backs away from the vigilante in front of her. This sudden movement startles whatever's in the box, but it's really not a mystery to Matt anymore. No, he heard all he needed to have his suspicions confirmed:

The box had yelped and let out several high pitched whimpers.

"I'm pretty sure animals are meant to be shipped over in specific containers." Matt cuts to the chase.

Sea salt lady scowls darkly. She yells something at him, but it's in a language that Matt doesn't have time to register. No, Daredevil is too busy focusing on the way the lady is reaching inside her jacket with her right hand...

She pulls out a handgun, and split seconds later Matt's kick collides with her hand, sending the gun flying across the alley way. It unfortunately also knocks into the box, sea salt lady's burn scarred hands fumbling to keep a hold of it, only for it to be steadied by her opponent, Daredevil gripping onto the box and giving an almighty tug.

An animalistic growl erupts out of the woman, who yanks just as hard - if not harder - keeping the cardboard box within her grasp. The whimpers from inside the box grow louder, temporarily distracting Matt just enough to allow the woman to kick out with her left foot, aiming to take out Daredevil's ankles. In response, Matt makes a move that he hopes the boxed animals will forgive him for: he leaps backwards into the air whilst gripping onto the box as tightly as he can, performing a back-flip that'll result in Matt uppercutting sea salt lady with his feet. As strong as the woman is, she can't compete with Matt's whole body weight; the box slips between her fingers, and not even a second later, she's stumbling backwards with a cry as the heels of the Devil's shoes are smacked into her jaw.

Landing in a crouch, Matt crams the box against his chest, holding it as close as he can to shield the poor creatures inside of it. They're currently continuing to cry, a couple of them having fell silent after the back-flip, from what Matt can only assume is due to being dazed. He prays that he didn't hurt any of them, but the fact that he now has the box in his grasp proves that the move was worth it. The animal's are temporarily safe - now it's time to get them out of here to ensure said safety.

Daredevil spins on his heel, intending to disappear within the alley ways. But the second he's sprinting away, he knows he's made a mistake.

_Click._ Sea salt lady smirks, aiming her handgun at the back of the Devil's head, "Для Владимира."

Matt ducks down into a crouch, shielding the box, hoping she'll miss, hoping for anything while he calculates his next mov-

_ Thwakk! _

_ Zzzt Zzzt Zzzt Zzzt- _

Her body hits the floor merely moments after Daredevil tilts his head over his shoulder. Matt's first instinct is to check that she's alive, focusing in on her heartbeat, relieved to find that the woman only appears to be unconscious. What he's not so relieved about is that there's an arrow stuck against her left shoulder...

There's a crash as something falls into the dumpster to Matt's left, followed by a soft 'owwww...', before a head sheepishly pokes out of the garbage. A plastic bag dangles on top of short hair, Clint Barton brushing it off with his spare hand, his right one still holding on to his recently used longbow. The archer's eyes blink once - twice - towards Matt, before Hawkeye's left hand shapes itself into a finger gun, the deaf man offering a forced and awkward smile, "Meant to do that."

"What are you doing in Hell's Kitchen?" Daredevil asks, voice gruff and deepened, disguising 'Matt Murdock the Hawkeye fanboy' beneath it's threatening husk.

Hawkeye's smile reverses into a sort of pout, before he shrugs off the Devil's rudeness, beginning to try and haul himself out of the dumpster as his voice takes on a mocking impression of Daredevil's deeper tone, "Thanks for saving my life, Hawkeye. I'm so glad you're here Hawkeye-"

"Don't be childish." Matt bluntly states at the same time as Clint slips and ends up flopping himself out of the dumpster and face-first onto the floor, a few bags of garbage tumbling down beside him. Matt sighs wearily.

The animals in the cardboard box are still whimpering, and the masked man can even feel something pawing against the rough material, trying to break free. Daredevil crouches immediately, gently placing the box upon the floor as he reaches towards the weapons strapped to his sides, going for his grappling hook. He turns the weapon over in his hands, thinking carefully about if this is the right thing to use to open the box, considering that the hook is so long that it could easily accidentally stab one of the animals inside.

"Here." Clint simply says, Matt tilting his head upwards to pretend to look towards the arrow that's being offered to him. It's a standard arrow, meaning that it has nothing but a simple sharp arrowhead - perfect for cutting through the duct tape without risking an injury to one of the animals inside.

Daredevil pockets his grappling hook, taking the offered arrow and introducing it to the duct tape, speaking to the crouched archer in front of him as he cuts through the grey material: "How did you knock her out?"

"Electro-arrow." Clint eagerly explains, a proud grin tugging at his lips, "Had to quickly tone down how much electricity it produces, but it should be enough to keep her knocked out for, um... fifteen minutes?"

Matt nods, thinking that something like that would be rather handy to have in his own weapons arsenal. Equally, the blind man could just continue rendering people unconscious the good old fashioned way: with his fists.

Regardless, the arrow makes quick work of the duct tape, Daredevil tossing it back to Hawkeye as the box is carefully opened. The two vigilantes peer inside, a "N'awww," slipping past Hawkeye's lips, Daredevil biting his own lips to prevent a similar sound from escaping him as Clint exclaims, "Staffie's are so cute!"

Five Staffordshire Bull Terrier puppies are gazing back up at them, two of them still howling and whimpering, whilst the rest are blinking and squinting away from the sudden burst of daylight. Three of the puppies are huddled together for comfort, one of them is sprawled on the floor as if it had previously been snoozing, whilst the fifth puppy seems to gaze up in awe up at the two men who are it's saviours. Said awe-filled puppy howls triumphantly, and it takes all of Matt's willpower to not melt from the way-too-adorable sound, wanting to keep up his serious persona.

Hawkeye, meanwhile, is already scooping the sleepy Staffie into his arms, his voice slipping into that dopey one that animal lovers use when talking to their pets: "Aww, who's a good puppy? Such a cute widdle pup-" Clint is interrupted by a tiny tongue licking against his lips, his whole face wrinkling in disgust, causing Matt to snort out a chuckle. He very quickly covers his mouth with the back of his hand to try to mask said sound, but it's too late - Clint heard him, and is currently smirking his way; "So you _do_ have emotions!"

Daredevil's mouth curls down into an irritated frown, his hand lowering so that said frown is fully on display, "What are we going to do with them?"

Clint tuts softly at the way Matt ignored his tease, but continues smiling. Kind of hard not to when he's cradling a puppy - especially when said Staffie lets out a rather adorable yawn, "Hand 'em over to an adoption place, I suppose. Assuming there's one nearby..."

Matt... honestly has no idea whether there is an adoption centre or not. Considering Deuce was a 'happy accident', the blind man's never exactly looked into adopting an animal, so how's he supposed to know where to take these Staffie's? The awe-filled puppy whimpers, shivering, now a cold little puppy thanks to the winter breeze. Matt tilts his head down towards it, before he gingerly lets his hand wander into the box to gently run his fingers across the puppy's fur, the Staffie beginning to relax again, even pressing itself into the warmth of Matt's hand. Daredevil smiles softly before he can stop himself, quietly stroking the calming Staffie as it's shivering slowly comes to a halt.

Hawkeye simply watches in silence at first, not wanting to disturb the moment as he pets his own puppy - after all, it's not every day you get to see the Devil smile. Though, Clint begins to reluctantly place the Staffie he'd been cradling back into the box amongst it's assumed siblings; "Well, unless you wanna be the one to take 'em, I've gotta dash. Sooooo..."

Daredevil's grin vanishes immediately, hidden by a small bite into his bottom lip. Matt proceeds to ponder over Hawkeye's offer, thinking that Deuce probably wouldn't mind having a new friend... before coming to the conclusion that the dopey German Shepard is enough trouble already. Adding a puppy to the mix just seems like a recipe for disaster.

"They're all yours." Matt simply states, giving the still awe-filled Staffie one last pet goodbye, before standing up and starting to step backwards. After all, Hawkeye isn't the only one with a dog to return to once these pups are safe.

Matt's world on fire observes as Clint bends down to scoop up the cardboard box, treating the puppies as if they were as fragile as China (which, considering the poor condition they've been found within, might as well be true). The three huddled Staffie's have all slumped down and curled together in a corner, the sleepy puppy waddling over to them to join the cuddle pile, seemingly wanting to warm up. The awe-filled Staffie lifts it's head up to poke it's little nose over the edge of the cardboard box, snout twitching towards Matt for a few moments, before it too retreats towards the cuddle pile. Hawkeye smiles down at the puppies, before shooting an awkward grin at Matt, "Then... long time no see Devil-man. See yah round maybe?"

"Don't count on it." Matt replies, before turning on his heel and beginning to walk towards the nearest fire escape. Though, before Matt can exit via the rooftops, it suddenly occurs to him that he never thanked his fellow vigilante for having his back against the sea salt lady earlier. That, and Clint never answered his question: what _was_ Hawkeye doing in Hell's Kitchen? Didn't he live in Brooklyn?

Curiosity gets the best of him, and he turns around to ask, only to find that both Clint and the box of puppies are gone. Matt's only companions now are the open dumpster and the unconscious puppy smuggler, snoring softly on the alley way floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering why there's a duck being used a border, it's meant to represent Matt, because, you know... he's a handsome wounded duck. Ducks will represent Matt, bows and arrows will represent Clint, whilst dogs will represent the dogs. Because using any other emoji for the dogs would be weird.


	4. You'll Be The Deaf Of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Further proof that a dog is man's best friend. Oh, and that Clint Barton is man's pain in the ass.

Daredevil doesn't normally slip up, but when he does, it's done in a truly spectacular fashion.

Matt hadn't been satisfied with just leaving the 'puppy incident' unsolved - surely the sea salt lady had been heading somewhere with those poor Staffies, right? The only lead Matt had was the fact that the lady had spoken in Russian, making him think that this could have something to do with Vladimir's people. But Vladimir was dead; the bombing and Fisk's hounds of men had assured that fate. The Russians were mostly gone from the criminal world, and yet, here one was, smuggling puppies in a cardboard box in broad daylight.

Something didn't add up here. So, like the sniffer dog he is, the Devil of Hell's Kitchen crept out into the night and followed the trail to the harbour. Sea salt lady hadn't earned this temporary nickname for nothing.

However, Daredevil had never actually made it to the harbour. Along the way, he'd come across a lone man in a track suit in the alley way below him, speaking in a foreign tongue into a phone as he speed walked along. As soon as Matt recognised the language as Russian, he smirked, casually dropping down from the roof top into the alley way below, stealthily tracking his chosen target... only to be led straight to a group of fifteen men and women. All armed. All bickering and squabbling in languages he doesn't understand, their words overlapping each other to flood his senses with nothing but confusion.

He recognises another one of the languages (Spanish) at the same time that he steps too close to a nearby bird. The pigeon is startled away from the trash can that it was attempting to find scraps in, flying off so suddenly that it's momentum causes the can to topple over with an echoing crash. Silence follows the sound, Matt holding as still as possible, praying that he'll go unnoticed... but next thing he knows, Daredevil is being chased down by seven very angry Russian mobsters. One of them even smells familiar, the waft of sea salt forever present as his pursuers begin to catch up.

Matt bolts himself onto a trash container and makes a frantic leap for the roof tops - his only chance at gaining a sanctuary. He's immediately shot in the side for his efforts. With a grunt of pain, his hands slip, losing whatever purchase they had on the roof top edge, and suddenly he's falling, falling, falling...

_Smack._

_Easy prey._

The majority of the rest is a blur. A flailing of limbs, pain slamming throughout his body. Laughter. Kicking. Pain. The taste of metal in the air before it collides with his skin. Bruises that will last for days - weeks - and cruel mocking voices that echo in his ears.

It's when the butt of sea salt lady's rifle is struck against his skull not once, not twice, but _three times_, that something in Matt snaps in half. One part decides that it's time to accept his fate... but the other practically roars, and causes him to fight. Struggle. Kick. Punch. Flail. Bite. Claw. Scream. _Anything_.

Matt has no idea how he made it out alive, but even Claire seemed to agree that it's nothing short of a miracle.

Though, now that he's lying sprawled on his couch smothered in bandages and held together by stitches, it doesn't feel so miraculous. Two bullets were removed from his chest and one from his side; there's a stab wound deep in his right thigh, and several cuts along his torso and arms. His head took the brunt of the damage, having been hit hard enough that there's a bleeding gash across Matt's forehead, as well as a never ending headache. The past four hours have been nothing but Claire working her arse off to fix up his injuries, but now that Matt seems more stable, exhaustion has caused her to drift asleep in Matt's arm chair, head tilted back and arms wrapped loosely around herself.

Matt, meanwhile, is stuck awake thanks to the pain in his skull. He's acutely aware of the subtle hints of dawn, birds twittering outside from the empty streets below as the heat of the awakening sun falls upon him through his windows. The other ever-present sound is Deuce's muted whining, and the soft scraping of it's paw against the wood of Matt's bedroom door. The German Shepard had unfortunately been shut inside Matt's bedroom throughout Claire's attempts to heal the blind man, as the canine had been so concerned about it's owner that it had kept accidentally getting in the way. For the safety of everyone involved, Deuce was put away with a couple of toys and some water (none of which it had touched) but now that everything's calmed down a little, the dog deserves to be set free. But first, Matt's going to get more pain killers, even if he's already taken the maximum amount for one day. Screw the rules - he just survived certain death, so surely tempting his fate some more isn't going to make much difference?

Slower than a tortoise, Matt begins to sit up, wincing and hissing as his wounds become more apparent with every little movement. Once he's fully upright, he takes a moment to allow his head to stop spinning (the flames of his world on fire shifting from roaring furnaces back to their usual camp fires) before pushing himself to his feet. He stumbles his way to the kitchen, intending to get a glass of water... only to pause half way to his destination.

When did his ears start ringing exactly?

Whatever, it's probably just his headache to blame. Speaking of which, the pain in Matt's skull suddenly shifts to agony, the blind man grunting and grabbing at the sides of his head, as if somehow that could stop his brains from feeling like they're going to explode. Or maybe they'll just slop out of his ears, useless and turned to mush.

The ringing gets louder, and the agony somehow gets worse, to the point that Matt actually doubles over. He groans, panic starting to flicker amongst the pain, something in his mind screaming 'get Claire get Claire get Claire-'

His world on fire roars, the flames explode, all consuming, oh God get Claire, help, help-

_Black..._

_Silence..._

_The fire is gone._

Matt spends about thirty seconds just stood in shock, frozen to the very core... before the panic kicks in, and he tries to move to grab the counter. A stool. Anything! Instead, without his hearing, his balance has also vanished, causing Matt to sway in the black void that he's found himself within. All he can do is allow himself to crash down to the floor, hands now scrambling against the wood, frantically trying to figure out where he's fallen. He was near the kitchen, right? So then where are the stools? Why can't Matt find anything but more wooden floor as his arms thrash about, searching for something - God dammit, anything will do!

But there's nothing. Nothing but Matt and the void.

Rolling onto his left side (not caring how pain shoots through his shoulder from the cuts in his arm that are being pressed into the floor) Matt frantically waves his right hand in front of his face, praying that something will register, that he'll see a spark of fire. But again, there's no relief - no reward for his efforts. So Matt opens his mouth and yells out "Hello!", waiting for his ears to receive the sound. Alas, the void remains stubbornly silent, it's darkness threatening to consume him, smothering the blind man with panic and dread, allowing these emotions to claw at his stomach and rip his bruised insides raw.

_Heavenly Father, am I dying?_

Matt yells out another "Hello!". And another. And another. He screams, or at least he thinks he does. It's impossible to know with his world so shut off like this.

Empty. Nothing. Nothing but the void and the wooden floor and the pain and-

Something wet touches his cheek. Matt cries out in panic, rolling onto his back as his hands flail upwards to push away whatever demon has crawled out of the dark to attack him. Instead, however, his hands connect with something soft, and amongst the panic, Matt registers breath being puffed against his cheek, like... like something is sniffing him.

_Deuce._

Matt's hands curl into his dogs fur, holding tightly, but hopefully not enough to hurt. In his current panicked state, he can't really tell. All he knows is that Deuce is the only connection he has with anything other than the floor right now. Deuce being here means that he's not dying - or if he is, at least he's gonna die with a friend beside him.

Deuce will keep him safe until the fire comes back. If it ever comes back... That haunting thought is about to spiral further throughout Matt's mind, but it's immediately replaced by the feeling of a weight beside him. Matt can feel soft fur against his skin, a nose gently resting atop his uninjured shoulder, a tender lick registering against his cheek. Wrapping his arms around his canine, shaky hands stroke along the German Shepard's fur, the only calm he has amongst this storm of panic and pain. Matt focuses as much as he can upon Deuce, feeling a heart beating against his side, sensing the soft vibrations of what he assumes to be a whine emit from Deuce's muzzle.

"Buen perro." Matt slurs out, even though the fact that he can't hear himself is still heavily unnerving. Deuce just needs to hear it: needs to know how much of a good dog it's being. The best gosh damn dog in the world right now.

There's another wet lick against his cheek, and Matt knows now. He knows that he's going to be okay. The fire will come back, and everything will be fine again. He just needs to ride this out - to hold onto Deuce and hope. To let the flames of Hell's Kitchen make their own way back to him.

Until then, Matt's going to hold tightly to his life line that's disguised as a dopey, floppy eared German Shepard. Thank God for dogs...

[🐕🦆]

"And you're _sure_ you don't know anything about the muggers?" Foggy asks Matt for about the tenth time in this one conversation alone.

It's been two days since Daredevil got cornered by the Russians. His world on fire had only taken about an hour to return when it vanished (much to Matt's relief) and hasn't shown signs of disappearing again since. Claire also hadn't woken up until well after Matt's enhanced senses had returned, so the blind man had just decided to... not tell her about it. Irresponsible? Probably. But Claire had already done more than enough for him that night - she didn't need anymore worries on her shoulders. Besides, with his concussion gone, the loss of his senses should be nothing but a fluke that he'll never have to deal with again.

_Hopefully..._

Anyway, recovered and refreshed, Matt had returned to work... only to receive a barrage of questions from Foggy and Karen. Who hurt you? Are you okay? Can we help? All the usual things they ask when they see his scars from his vigilante life, and therefore they receive the usual excuse: "I fell, because oh gosh, I'm just so blind and clumsy!" But considering that Matt has that very obvious gash straight across his forehead (not to mention his cut and bruised knuckles, and the healing slashes that can be seen on his arms when his sleeves roll back just a little) 'I fell' isn't going to cut it this time. So Matt spins another lie: that he was attacked by three thugs that wanted his money, and that he hadn't told Foggy and Karen because he didn't want to worry them.

Thankfully, they fell for it. Matt's relief and guilt double simultaneously as a result, causing an odd sinking feeling within his chest - it's impossible to tell whether it's an indication of calmness or dread.

Now he's sat at Nelson and Murdock's kitchen table, trying to eat a sandwich in peace during his lunch hour, only for Foggy to decide that Matt needs a little more grilling about these mysterious thugs of his. Foggy and Karen seem determined to figure out who hurt Matt so that they can report the thugs to the police and help him press charges for assault - in response, Matt is doing everything in his power to dodge the subject, because pressing charges would result in the Russian's finding out who the man behind the mask is.

Lying to his friends to save Daredevil's skin? Nothing new in Matt's books...

"As I've been saying, Foggy," Matt responds, trying his hardest to keep the slight irritation out of his voice, "I'm blind. I can't exactly see their faces. And they didn't have any accents I could identify them with, and they didn't smell like anything distinguishable, and I don't really remember where I was because I was coming home from a bar I haven't been to before." Sensing how Foggy's face drops back into that frustrated frown, Matt merely offers a shrug, "I'm sorry, but we can't go to the police when I have no information to give them... I'm just thankful I didn't have much money in my wallet."

"But it's still not right!" Foggy argues, "We can't just let them get away with assault and attempted theft - c'mon, Matt, you know better than that."

Matt sighs, tilting his head downwards as if he's staring at the barely eaten sandwich in his hands, before putting it back on his plate. This whole conversation is fast making him lose his appetite due to the knots of guilt coiling in his stomach. And yet, Matt spells out another lie oh so easily: "Trust me, if I knew anything about them, I would have already called the police."

Foggy seems about ready to fire back with what they both know to be true - that Matthew "never asks for help" Murdock would most definitely _not _have called the police - but one of those coughs that people make to gather attention to themselves is heard from the door way. Karen's leaning against it's frame, holding letters and paperwork to her chest with her right hand, an evidently forced smile upon her lips.

Matt and Foggy shut up and immediately turn their heads towards her. The three friends know each other well enough to recognise when one of them is entering the room with bad news.

"If it helps Matt, you're now not the only one with money problems," Karen explains, slightly lifting up the letter and papers within her hand for emphasis, "Guess what law firm can't afford to pay it's rent?"

The shared knowledge doesn't shock either of the lawyers - they'd all known Nelson and Murdock was struggling with money for a while now, but they'd been putting their worries on hold. They'd held on to the hope that they'd get more clients, and that life would just find a way to keep their business afloat until then. But of course, the real world doesn't like to play nice.

"We have no new clients?" Foggy tries regardless.

Karen's voice holds a gloomy tone, "Not a single soul."

"And nothing's come up in the papers we could try to get in on?" Foggy's really grasping at straws now it seems.

The blind man's world on fire moves left and right around Karen's head, "Unless you want to help a superhero sort out some dog rescue shelter, there's nothing new in this city."

_Wait, what?_

Matt had been about to space out from the conversation - maybe eat his sandwich and hope the ever-present rent threat would just go away - but his head shoots up at the mention of a superhero and a dog rescue. His mind crawls back to his meeting with Hawkeye not so long ago: Clint's dog, the Russian lady, the Staffie puppies that Hawkeye had taken...

No... No, surely not? Why on Earth would he start a whole business for some puppies? He's an _Avenger_ for heaven's sake, and-

"You serious?" Foggy's shocked voice cuts off Matt's train of thought, followed by his friend's slight chuckle after Karen's nod, "Yeesh. People are really just gonna leave some poor dogs with that Devil-guy?"

Matt has to use all of his will power to keep himself from pouting in protest.

"Really? You think _he'd_ run a dog rescue?" Karen's forced smile starts to slip into a more casual one now that the conversation has shifted to something more light-hearted - especially after Foggy replies with a mere shrug (because since when have there been any other 'superheroes' in Hell's Kitchen?). She pushes herself off of the door frame, calling over her shoulder as she walks back towards her desk, "It's apparently Hawkeye of all people."

_Oh, for crying out loud!_

Matt pushes his sandwich away from himself with a subtle irritated sigh. Great. Guess Daredevil's got an unwanted vigilante visitor on his turf.

Foggy laughs properly then, his voice filled with disbelief at Karen's words, "Hawkeye? Really? An Avenger came to Hell's Kitchen just to help out some dogs?"

"Apparently so." Karen replies from the other room, before returning with a newspaper in her hand. She spreads it out on the table in front of Foggy (since Matt can't exactly read it anyway) and points to a corner of a specific page, before taking the empty kitchen seat (sat opposite Foggy and to the right of Matt). Foggy immediately dives into the paper, eyes scanning down the article Karen pointed to, apparently eager to learn more about this rather odd situation. Karen turns her head towards Matt, and tries to politely involve him in the conversation with a joke, "Fancy getting Deuce a friend?"

Matt laughs awkwardly, trying to suppress whatever feelings he has about Hawkeye's (in Matt's eyes) chaotic decision. He can think about how Daredevil should deal with it later - Hell's Kitchen already has it's hero, after all. It doesn't need another one; "Not really."

"Aww, c'mon, I'm sure Deuce would love it!" Foggy exclaims, before his gaze averts out of the kitchen area and towards Matt's office. The door is open, exposing a soft folded up blanket on the floor with a canine stood beside it, and Matt can hear it currently sniffing it's bed for whatever reason. Dog's gotta do what dog's gotta do; either way, Foggy grins and calls out in a rather soppy voice, "You'd like a friend, wouldn't you Deuce?"

Deuce's head snaps towards Foggy, ears perked up in interest, it's tail slowly starting to build up momentum as it tilts it's head curiously. A soft bark is omitted, and Matt sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Don't give my dog ideas. He's already enough to handle on his own."

"What are you talking about?" Karen joins in on the teasing now, smirking towards both Foggy and Matt in turn, "He's an angel."

Matt shoots a disbelieving frown in Karen's general direction, receiving a giggle from her in response. Though Karen is right - Deuce is an absolute angel, if what happened two days ago has proven anything to Matt. But angels can still have their annoying quirks - especially if said quirks are rushing around his apartment and knocking everything over, trying to steal Matt's food when he's not looking, and purposefully sitting on Matt's foot so that the blind man is unable to move until he gives his German Shepard a few pets.

Anyway, Foggy has exited the kitchen, opting to instead begin to play with Deuce, who has apparently picked up one of it's squeaky toys from the high pitched sounds that echo from the other room. Matt would burn that squeaky toy if it weren't a gift from Claire - call it her form of playful revenge for all of the times Matt calls her up as Daredevil about needing a patch up.

A comfortable silence fills the kitchen for a while, but Matt reluctantly has to break it. There's an important question that he needs to ask: "Sorry... but when is our rent due exactly?"

Karen's smile vanishes immediately, "Around the fifteenth of December."

Matt sighs. Two weeks it is, then. Two weeks to somehow save Nelson and Murdock.

"...Sorry to bring down the mood." He mumbles.

"No it's- it's fine." Karen insists, pausing a little, before speaking up again, turning to face Matt entirely as she does so. Though, it seems like she's talking to herself more than Matt; "We'll be okay. We'll find clients, we'll find cases. We have time... there's bound to be someone out there who needs help. And hey, we've survived worse than this."

Matt forces a chuckle, subconsciously tucking his hands under the table to hide his bruised knuckles, "Yeah. Suppose we have."

Another silence starts to echo throughout the room, but Matt tries to break it. He wants to bring the mood back to the earlier light-hearted tone - wants to bring Karen's lovely smile back, "At least we won't be the only ones with a struggling new business. 'Hawkeye' is bound to get a rude awakening at some point."

Karen grins a little, and the corners of Matt's lips curl triumphantly. Karen seems to suddenly sit further upright though, Matt raising a confused eyebrow at first, before Karen explains what she realised: "Wait, you do know which one Hawkeye is, don't you?"

Oh yeah. Karen and Foggy are (of course) unaware that Matt knows certain superheroes a lot more than he should. Nope, Matt most definitely has no idea what the difference between each Avenger is - so he keeps up the lie by furrowing his eyebrows into a thoughtful expression: "Um... the one with the hammer... right?"

Karen bursts out laughing, and Matt can't help but grin at the sound. White lies like this one are fine to keep, in his opinion - it just makes it fun to hear his friend's reactions, since they seem to enjoy the fact that they've finally found a subject area that Matt's clueless about. But the bigger lies? The ones to do with why he comes to work injured, how he got his dog and that he goes out into the streets every night as a vigilante?

Yeah, maybe there's a reason that Matt can't sleep easily; despite the fact that Karen's laughter is a wonderful sound, his stomach is slowly starting to knot with guilt yet again, the feeling far too familiar to Matt to make much difference by this point. Even now, despite the fact that this is 'Matt time', not 'Daredevil time', the blind vigilante can't help but wonder more about why Hawkeye is in Hell's Kitchen in the back of his mind - why the Russian's are here, who those other people he found them with last night are.

But Karen starts trying to explain who each of the Avengers are to Matt for about the tenth time since they've known each other, so the blind man decides to put his Daredevil worries in a box to be dealt with later. Besides, there's a very simple way to address the Hawkeye concerns: the newspaper article Foggy read should mention the location of this new 'dog rescue shelter', right?

Guess it's time for 'Matt Murdock the Hawkeye fanboy' and Clint Barton to meet again, huh?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S: yes, the chapter title is a pun. Sue me.


	5. Coffee Is My Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharing a coffee together somehow seems bittersweet.

It's snowing in Hell's Kitchen. There's a chill upon the breeze that scrapes across Matt's pale skin like a razor blade. The blind man pulls his scarlet scarf (he'd made sure it would match his glasses when he brought it) just a little bit higher so that it covers the bottom half of his face. Of course a mini blizzard had to begin merely minutes after Matt began walking. It's resulted in the streets being mostly void of life - a combination of the day being Sunday and a blizzard swirling outside does wonders for crowd control.

Tapping his white cane across the pavement before him, Matt's enhanced hearing picks up on something, a mere whisper bouncing across the wind: barking. A small, little yap coming from a building down the street to his left. Ah, perfect - Matt must be heading in the right direction then. Crossing the road, it doesn't take long for the blind man to find himself stood outside the newest establishment in Hell's Kitchen: Hawks and Paws animal rescue.

Now, Matt can't tell much about the outside of the building, but it seems like a stereotypical store for Hell's Kitchen standards. It's at the bottom of a bricked apartment building, and has a door in the centre with two large windows on either side, spanning across the building to reveal all of the store within. Matt can't exactly 'see' through the windows in the traditional sense, but what he can do is hear seven heart beats inside. There's five smaller ones, racing with excitement, high-pitched yaps accompanying them. Then there's two relatively normal ones - one's beating slowly (asleep) and is accompanied by the scent of drawl and dog breath, a tail softly thudding against the tiled floor from a dream of some sort; the other is a fraction above a normal human heart's pace, and is accompanied by grumbled complaints and the sound of metal on metal. That last heart is very much familiar to Matt by this point, though.

_There he is: Hawkeye, the Avenger himse-_

Matt hears what he assumes is a spanner slip from between Clint's fingers, only to go crashing down onto his foot, accompanied by a rather loud: "FUTZ!"

_-...the dumbass himself._

The breeze outside picks up again, swirling faster, slamming snowflakes into the side of Matt's face. Shivering, the blind man takes this as an opportunity to enter Hawks and Paws, gently pushing open the door and quickly closing it behind him to keep the blizzard outside. As he'd opened the door, Matt had registered the clang of what's probably meant to be an entry bell go off above his head. If the fact that the noise had sounded rather awful indicates anything though, Clint either set up the bell incorrectly, or assembled it without his hearing aids in.

Speaking of the archer's hearing aids, they don't seem to be in now, as Clint hasn't noticed Matt's entrance (and Matt's fairly sure he hears the soft buzzing of the aids coming from the front desk just a little ways in front of him). Clint instead grumbles an irritated "work, Goddammit!" as he kicks the spanner into the tiny boiler room that he currently has his head tucked inside from frustration. Well, that explains why the store doesn't feel that much warmer than the freezing afternoon outside does...

A rather deep 'woof' comes from the floor to his right, and Matt can't help but register the way that Lucky the Labrador seems to be running in his sleep. He's lying on his side, sure, but his legs kick and twitch every now and then, tail still wagging ever so slightly despite his dozy state. The blind man can't help but smile a little at the picture of that in his world on fire - Deuce has dreams like this too, where the German Shepard seems like it's chasing something in it's sleep. Huh... maybe Matt should have brought Deuce here with him? The only reason the dog's not here is because Matt just came from church. St Patrick's Cathedral happened to be close to Hawks and Paws, so Matt figured that he might as well take the shorter journey. He's only really here for one reason, after all: to figure out why Hawkeye's spending so much time in Hell's Kitchen lately. Surely there's gotta be a reason he's not in his usual area, righ-?

"Matt?" Comes the rather surprised voice of Clint Barton, who's stepped out from the boiler room and spotted Matt at last. The blind man immediately snaps out of his thoughts, hearing Clint speak again: "Sorry, I didn't hear... We're kinda closed right now? There's a sign on the door, but um, I get that you wouldn't have read that."

"Ah..." Matt's senses may be enhanced, but they'll still never be able to read text on a sign like a seeing person. Though, it would be very convenient if they could... Matt shuffles awkwardly on his feet, "Sorry, I can come back another day-"

"No, no, it's fine!" Clint quickly interjects, stepping away from the corner of the room and towards Matt, "I ain't gonna send yah back out into that blizzard, man."

Matt lets out a sigh of relief, hoping it was subtle. Judging by the way that Clint's brow furrows in concern, it probably wasn't.

"Go- Go on, go sit down." the deaf man says, gesturing to his left - towards Lucky, "There's some chairs just to your right over there. I can make yah a coffee or something."

"Ah, you don't need to-" Matt begins to politely protest.

"Nah, c'mon, it's fine." Clint insists, beginning to smile as he steps backwards, heading towards the door behind the front desk, "Besides, it gives me an excuse to have a coffee too."

Matt remains still for a little while, a part of his mind telling him that if the store is supposed to be closed, he should probably be leaving Clint to it. But it's so cold outside, and talking over a warm coffee seems like the perfect opportunity to catch Hawkeye alone and get some answers out of him... So Matt uses his white cane to help him locate the clearly-second-hand sofas, before sitting down with his back to the window, a certain snoozing Labrador at his feet.

Having coffee with an Avenger, huh? Hard to tell if this is the peek of Daredevil's career, or if this is going to lead to the downfall of it. After all, should Matt accidentally piss off an Avenger...

_Yeah, maybe he should tread his ground carefully here._

Either way, it's not long before Clint's made the coffees (having ensured that he made Matt's how the lawyer said he likes it) and placed them upon the small table in the centre of the three sofa's, which Matt has lent his white cane against. The blind man's slightly milky coffee resides within a mug with some sort of decal on it, the blind man tracing his finger tips over a large round circle encasing a smaller circle, a third even smaller circle lying within their centres. Perhaps it's some sort of target, considering Hawkeye is the one who owns the mug? The archer's black coffee, meanwhile, is threatening to overflow from it's own mug, though Clint doesn't seem to care all too much about that. Regardless, Matt simply picks up his own coffee and holds it snugly within his hands, glad to have something that can finally warm him up aside from the feeble attempts made by his scarf and his coat.

Clint takes the seat to Matt's left, eagerly picking up his own coffee and taking a few chugs from it (despite the fact that it's still boiling hot). He places it back down and turns his head towards the blind man at the same time that Matt begins to talk: "Thanks for the coffee. And for letting me stay."

"Eh, don't mention it." Clint responds with a dismissive gesture and a tug of a smile at the corner of his lips, "I should be extra nice to my first customer and all, you know?"

Matt merely chuckles in response with a small shrug, having a quick sip of his coffee. He then tries to steer the conversation in the direction that he wants it to go: "I'm surprised, though... not every day an Avenger starts an animal rescue."

The archer laughs in response, and Matt can't help but think that there's a twinge of awkwardness attached to it, "Well, it wasn't entirely planned. I just found some poor Staffie pups - they're, um, out the back if you wanna see 'em - and I was trying to find a place to hand 'em over to. And guess what? There weren't a single animal shelter in Hell's Kitchen aside from the pound! So I could've handed 'em over to the pound, sure... but I thought the poor things deserved better than that." Clint shrugs, "So. Yah know. I thought I'd actually do something with my old Avengers pay check, for once. And... 'ta-daaa'. Hawks and Paws."

Well... Matt can't fault Clint's reasoning. The blind man's honestly surprised that there _isn't_ another animal rescue in Hell's Kitchen. He's gonna have to double check that later... but first, it's time to get to the crux of why he's here, allowing a small smile to slip onto his face. A totally innocent smile, "That's very thoughtful of you... but still, it's a surprise to see you in Hell's Kitchen at all. We usually just have that Daredevil guy."

"Ah, yeah, you are stuck with Devil-man, aren't yah?" Clint seems to tease, before shrugging once again, "I came to the Kitchen for a visit - was gonna make my way round the whole of New York eventually - but I guess you're all gonna be stuck with me too now that I've got Hawks and Paws set up. Besides-" Clint's voice slowly reduces into an almost indiscernible mumble as he continues to talk, "I was getting bored of Brooklyn anyway."

Liar. Matt doesn't even need to listen to Clint's heartbeat to know that, "Oh really?"

"Yeah." is all Clint says in response, his head wearily tilting downwards. Matt wants to keep pressing the subject - wants to figure out the real reason why Hawkeye's seemingly left Brooklyn for good. But there's a drop in the speed of the archer's heart beat - a quiet stillness to his body that radiates this feeling of sorrow that brings the blind man to a pause. Huh... so Brooklyn makes Hawkeye... sad?

_What happened?_

Matt doesn't cave to his curiosity though. As much as he would love to know more, he's aware that he's seemingly gone far enough. Matt's already fought Hawkeye in the past, not to mention how he's lied to Clint's face many, many times - pushing the deaf man into a subject that clearly upsets him on top of all that just seems cruel.

Daredevil would demand answers. But Matthew Murdock has just been to church, and has a much kinder heart than his alter ego tends to. Thus, he changes the subject.

Having another sip from his coffee, Matt smiles warmly, breaking the silence that had began to build between the two of them as soon as Clint turns his head in his direction again, "You're really good at making coffee."

The deaf man sits bolt upright in surprise, eyes blinking rapidly a couple of times in slight disbelief, "I-I am?"

"Yeah." Matt replies, smile slipping into a giddy grin. He is totally 'Matt Murdock the Hawkeye fanboy' after all, "Though, I haven't had coffee in ages, to be fair."

A flattered smile begins to break through Clint's features, though it quickly shifts into a playful pout, "Aww, yah mean you only like my coffee 'coz you've got nothing to compare it to?"

"What?" Matt's voice also takes on a playful tone, albeit more of a sarcastic one, "Nooo, it's obviously just the best coffee I've ever had."

Clint smirks, a soft chuckle coming from chapped lips. Matt finds himself chuckling too, carefully putting his coffee down on the table as he does so. Feeling warmer now, he starts to remove the crimson scarf from around his neck as it becomes Clint's turn to speak: "Have yah really not had coffee in ages though?"

"Sadly not." Matt responds, neatly resting his scarf upon his lap as he unzips his coat, revealing his simple black turtleneck shirt that lies beneath it, "I don't have any at home, and we ran out at my work place."

"Well, um, guess you're gonna have to top up, then." Clint mumbles into his coffee mug, taking another chug (finishing his drink off), "It should be illegal to be at work with no coffee."

An awkward laugh slips past Matt's lips, the blind man mumbling his next words more to himself than Clint: "I... don't think we can afford coffee right now."

The deaf man almost drops his mug in surprise, head snapping towards Matt, "...Huh?"

Matt merely forces an uncomfortable smile in response. _Please don't ask, please don't ask, please don't ask-_

"Wait, wait, wait..." Clint begins, sliding his mug onto the table and turning to face Matt entirely, "You're telling me your work can't afford, like, five dollars?"

Great. Guess they're talking about this then.

Matt starts off by simply shaking his head, which only gains a further confused and worried expression from Clint. So the blind man starts to reluctantly explain, "We... We don't have any clients right now. But our rent's coming up very soon... So we're trying to save up all we can and kind of just... hoping that someone will turn up?"

Sympathy fills the Avenger's voice, "Aww sheesh... Where do you work?"

"Nelson and Murdock." Matt answers, one of his hands awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck, "We're a law firm..."

If this were a comic, a light bulb would be drawn above Clint's head: "Hold on just a sec."

The archer dashes off back into that room where he got the coffee's from, Matt remaining in his seat with a rather confused expression. Though, this confusion only heightens as Clint returns and slaps some files and paperwork down on the small table beside the coffee mugs, the sudden sound causing Lucky to jolt awake at Matt's feet. Now both the blind man and the Labrador tilt their heads up towards Clint in confusion, the deaf man merely beaming down at them in triumph.

"So," Clint explains, "I don't know shit about business legal stuff. I've been given all this paperwork by these officials or whatever, and it all just seems like a bunch of mumbo jumbo to me. Sooo... it, um, it would be pretty convenient if I knew a lawyer who could help me out. And yah know, I'd pay him pretty nicely - maybe I'd just _happen_ to give him a bonus, that just so _happens_ to help him pay his rent too, and-"

"Clint..." Matt gently interrupts, raising his hand like a small stop sign to get the archer's attention. Clint immediately pauses, grinning eagerly at Matt as he waits for the blind man's reaction, kind of like a dog waiting for some sort of treat. Matt sighs, worries beginning to race through his mind. Yes, Nelson and Murdock really could use the money right now... but it feels like he's almost taking advantage of Clint's kindness if he says yes. Not to mention that Matt is a defence lawyer, not a business lawyer - sure, he knows a thing or two about running a small company since he and Foggy run one themselves, but on a technical stand point, this isn't exactly Nelson and Murdock's field of expertise. That, and even if they did take up Clint's offer, with the way businesses work, there's likely to be much more paperwork than just what Clint has been given now; is it really wise to let Hawkeye become a long term client? What if that makes him stick around even longer in Hell's Kitchen? What if he and Daredevil cross paths again?

What if Clint befriends Matt? What if he figures out Matt's secret? He's an _Avenger_ \- he's smart enough that he could totally figure it out if he tried hard enough and paid attention. Right?

_Oh God, what if he's already figured it out? _Maybe Matt shouldn't have come here. Maybe-

SCREEEEECH CRASH! A van just skidded along the icy road and came to a halt right outside Hawks and Paws, knocking over what Matt assumes is a trash can in the process. The blind man jolts in surprise at the sudden sharp noises, hands flying to cover his ears with a grimace, and Clint quirks an eyebrow in response, grin faltering. Though, his head merely has to flicker towards the van through the window behind Matt, and the lawyer is suddenly being yanked by the shirt to the floor beside Lucky, himself and Clint crouched so low to the ground that they're obscured from view by the sofa.

"Clint, what-?" Matt begins in confusion, only to be immediately shushed, a hand even placed over his mouth to ensure his silence. The blind man has absolutely no idea what's going on, but judging by Clint's accelerated heart beat and the way that Lucky has also crouched low (like a predator) and is quietly growling, he knows better than to speak up. It's better to stay silent and ride this out - he can ask questions when Clint's calmer, and doesn't have such a tense jaw and anxiously clenched teeth.

Besides, he doesn't need to ask questions when it seems like everything about the people stepping out of the van screams danger.

Track suits, baseball bats, smirks, and smug hands in pockets. Five, six - no, seven men. Correction: five men and two women, one of which is sat waiting in the van, and one of which stands amongst the track suit wearing men crowding outside of Hawks and Paws. She smells like sea salt...

_Superheroes just can't catch a break, can they?_

"Yo, Hawkeye!" shouts one of the men in a thick Russian accent, able to be heard rather easily since the mini blizzard is starting to come to it's end, nothing but trickles of snowflakes now. Lucky snarls a little in response to the voice, Clint unaware as he peers around the side of the sofa, squinting as he tries to focus upon the face of the Russian man from such a distance. Said Russian continues on: "We know you're in there bro. We came for the money, bro. Dogs too, while we're at it."

Clint sighs wearily, and Matt reaches his hand up to the archer's to remove it from atop his mouth, the deaf man allowing him to do so. Though, Clint starts talking in that nearly indiscernible mumble again before Matt can, gaze fixed directly on the blind man as he does so, "Matt? Sorry... Sorry, I've gotta go... deal with some bad bros. I've got keys..." Clint fumbles in his pockets, Matt wondering why on Earth he needs keys, allowing them to be frantically shoved into his hands regardless, "Lock the door behind me and call the police, okay? There's a phone on the wall behind the desk front desk to your far right. Just... stay here with Lucky, and stay safe. Yeah?"

Matt remains silent simply due to how sudden this situation is. One moment, he's laughing over a coffee, the next there's Russian mobsters outside the building. They're apparently here for Hawkeye only, but there's still a sense of dread building within Matt, like claws being dragged slowly and painfully down his spine.

_Are they here for Daredevil too?_

Realising Clint's waiting for a response, Matt nods, uncertainty evident. Clint's voice is filled with sympathy again; "I'm really sorry, man..."

And with that, the archer's gone, still crouched as he moves behind the front desk. Matt registers the opening of a drawer, before Hawkeye's bow is gripped tightly in Clint's right hand, quiver being slung across his shoulders with dizzying speed. The movements are fluid and efficient, proving that Clint has done this far too many times, the archer remembering last second to slip his hearing aids off from on top of the counter and onto his ears.

And Matt... Matt just stays crouched behind the sofa. His mind's racing with indecision, because he knows he could help here. That Daredevil could help. But he's not Daredevil right now - he's innocent, blind civilian Matthew Murdock, and there's no way he'd be able to sneak out to grab his suit. As far as Matt can sense, Hawks and Paws doesn't have a back door - not even a back window or something. Besides, Matt's apartment is too far away from this place; by the time he races off to get his suit and returns, the Russian's would probably be long gone.

So that's it then. Matt's trapped: a sitting duck. He could help, but should be do so, he risks exposing his secret identity. He forces himself to slowly stand, letting Clint walk out the door - a mouse boldly walking towards six cats - before dragging himself over to the door and pressing the key into the lock. The Daredevil part of him screams to say 'fuck it' - to go out there and be the hero that he knows he can be. But the sensible part of him wins out, and whilst guilt rips his stomach apart for about the fourth time this week alone, Matt locks the door.

At least he's not the only one frustrated that they can't do more to help: Lucky is stood beside him, hackles raised and growling, barking aggressively at the door as if somehow the Russians outside will hear him. Matt steps backwards slowly until his back presses into the front desk, moving his right hand to the side to place the keys upon it, before twisting around and reaching for the corded phone hanging off of the back wall that Clint spoke of. He dials 911 with practised fingers, holding the phone to his ear and letting it ring. He then decides to do the one thing that he can do right now: listen. Listen and figure out just what exactly is going on outside.

"Long time no see, bros." A forced joke of sorts comes from Hawkeye's lips, the archer sternly stood before the six people in front of him with a loaded bow. He doesn't get a laugh in response to the joke - just Cheshire cat smirks; "Since I don't owe you money no more, do me a favour and get lost."

"Oh, bro..." the same Russian man who spoke earlier responds, laughing mockingly, "Just 'coz we destroyed things don't mean shit, bro. You still gotta pay up. Got that, bro?"

"Bullshit." Is Hawkeye's cold response, raising his bow and aiming it at the Russian man's head, "Do I have to say it in a way you'll understand?" Clint does a very bad impression of a Russian accent: "Get lost, bro."

The smug smirk curls back into a frown, a puff of air exhaling from the Russian man's lips, "You never like to make it easy, do you bro?"

Hawkeye let's a rather dark smirk twitch at the corner of his mouth, "It's kinda my super power. Now: get out of my life."

An arrow flies, and the six Russian's swarm on Hawkeye. Punches are thrown, bats are swung, arrows are both stabbed and sent soaring. The mess of brawling bodies amongst the snow is so immense and fast that Matt can't keep track of who is who. He tries his hardest, but his enhanced hearing is interrupted by a woman's calm voice coming through the corded phone: "911, what is your emergency?"

"I need the police. There's a fight going on outside of Hawks and Paws animal rescue. It's between seven gang members and Hawkeye."

Bats swung. Punches. Kicks. Stabbing. Blood... blood wafts through the air, metallic and thick. For the first time since forever ago, it makes Matt want to gag.

"Can you give me the exact address please?" the lady continues.

"I... I don't know. It was in the newspapers last Friday-"

There's a loud, pained cry outside. The voice is all too familiar. The guilt in Matt's stomach twists into a knife, stabbing him right in the gut.

"Alright. Can you tell me exactly what happened?" her voice is too calm for this situation.

This time, it's not a cry - it's a straight up scream. The dagger of guilt within Matt is stabbing frantically now, and the blind man finds himself being torn apart again. All of his instincts are bellowing at him to help - do something Goddammit! But he knows that's a risky decision; a blind man can't fight like Daredevil can. He'll get exposed. Everyone will know. But Clint-

Lucky leaps up at the door, scrambling and snarling against it, barking for all that he's worth. Matt suddenly understands why when he registers the sound of a body being painfully dragged across the pavement, Clint struggling for all he's worth as five of the Russian's are working together to restrain him and drag him backwards - back towards the van. The sixth Russian is picking herself up from the floor, sea salt lady spitting out a tooth as she scoops up Hawkeye's bow. She smirks, slinging the bow over her shoulders, apparently seeing it as some sort of trophy, stepping forward to snap an arrow in half beneath the heel of her boot.

_Goddammit Murdock, do something!_

"Sir?" the dispatcher on the end of the phone queries, "Sir, are you still there?"

The corded phone hangs downwards, swaying slowly side to side from where it was dropped so suddenly. The keys on the front desk are gone, snatched up by frantic hands, and so is Matt's white cane and scarlet scarf.

It's not snowing in Hell's Kitchen anymore. Matt's coffee has gone cold.


	6. Brawling Blind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fisticuffs with the Russians, and Matt's almost professional levels of self conflict.

When Matt rushes out from the warmth of Hawks and Paws, quickly shutting the door behind him to keep the snarling Lucky safely inside, his mind races with simultaneous thoughts of regret and excitement.

No going back. A blind man's just joined a mini battle ground with nothing but his black turtleneck, a scarlet scarf wrapped around his whole face to hide it (his glasses having been left haphazardly next to his freezing coffee mug indoors) and his white cane in his hands. The winter winds are as freezing as ever and the ground is slush beneath his feet, slippery from the combat that has been occurring upon this street. Matt registers sea salt lady's head turn in his direction, confusion flickering to the forefront of her senses, Hawkeye's bow still slung around her shoulders as she seems to gaze at the blind man like he's a fish trying to climb a tree.

Daredevil would go straight for the punch, but there's no way a blind man would know which direction to throw said punch. Matt is going to have to take a different approach.

"Excuse me?" Matt lifts up his scarf just enough so that his mouth is uncovered, using his free right hand to run his white cane along the floor, casually stepping forward towards sea salt lady, "Is there something going on out here?"

From where Hawkeye is getting dragged towards the van by the five Russians, Matt registers Clint's heart skip a beat in surprise, his struggling temporarily pausing due to the shock. Sea salt lady, meanwhile, quirks an eyebrow towards the lawyer, eyes drifting down to his white cane... "There's nothing to see here. You should get inside and out of the cold."

"Are you sure there's nothing?" Matt's voice is full of naive concern, stepping closer towards the Russian now, his white cane almost tapping against her foot, "I thought I heard a scream."

That last comment causes sea salt lady to lose her cool composure. Instead, she lets out an irritated sigh, hands moving up to grasp Matt's shoulders, attempting to forcibly turn the blind man around and usher him back inside.

_Perfect. Target's location acquired._

Sea salt lady opens her mouth to say something, but instead she's met with a cane being smacked against her face. With a grunt of surprise, she stumbles backwards, and Matt takes the opportunity to turn around and swing at her again. White cane's really aren't meant to be used like baseball bats, but Matt's cane is stronger than most - his billy club is hidden inside of it most days, so the white cane's metal was specifically designed to be reinforced - and it's proving to be a very useful weapon so far. In fact, it's even caught the attention of the other five Russians, who pause in their dragging of the Avenger as their heads snap towards the pained cry of sea salt lady. The lapse of attention is exactly what Clint needed. He kicks his legs free, scrunches his knees up to his chest, and sends his feet slamming into the head of the Russian that's holding his right arm.

From then on out, it's a brawl once again.

Matt continues to swing his white cane at sea salt lady, aiming for her head for the most part, praying to God that he can knock her out quickly. The less people Matt and Clint have to battle against, the easier this fight should be. Instead, sea salt lady blocks his next swing with her left forearm, taking the opportunity to spin a kick into Matt's side. The blind man stumbles, bringing his own forearms up to shield himself as sea salt lady throws a punch towards his head. She throws two punches against his forearms, intending to hurl a third at the side of Matt's head to get a hit in, but instead the blind man drives his knee up into sea salt lady's stomach, the Russian grunting in surprise, resulting in her punch missing it's target.

She steps backwards just a little, and Matt wonders why until he senses that a bald Russian man is rushing towards him. Daredevil would know to spin around and attack, but Matt Murdock wouldn't. Dammit... but it does give the blind man an idea.

The bald man goes to grapple Matt, grasping his arms and yanking them behind the lawyer's back. Matt takes the opportunity to bring up his feet and press his weight backwards into the man, copying Hawkeye's earlier attack as he propels his feet forward and aims towards sea salt lady. Unfortunately for Matt, the Russian woman had clocked his movements in time, dodging backwards with a frustrated frown. Her heads darts around in a quick scanning motion, and Matt detects the nearby baseball bat at the same time that her gaze locks upon the object, swiftly striding towards it.

The smell of blood thickens within the air, and the cry of a third Russian rings in Matt's ears. He senses metal within human skin, and can't help but smirk beneath his scarf, guessing that Hawkeye may have just jammed an arrow into some poor guy. Clint clearly doesn't need a bow to handle himself in a fight, the archer scrambling to his feet and bulldozing straight into a fourth Russian, sending the two of them crashing to the floor so that Clint can rain his fists down upon his attacker.

_Bow..._ Sea salt lady still has Hawkeye's bow slung around her. As she bends down to get the baseball bat, Matt knows what his new target is.

The blind man struggles against the man who holds him captive, but the bald Russian is strong and doesn't budge. Plan B, then: Matt kicks behind himself with his legs, intending to make the other man stumble, or loosen his grip, or just... something. But nothing seems to work - especially when the bald man gets tired of the blind man's squirming and head butts the back of his head.

Matt's head swims from the shock. His world on fire flickers, the flames seeming to die down a little, and the blind man's mind flashes back to that horrible night where the fire went out... but blessedly, it remains. The swirls of amber focus upon sea salt lady, who stands before him with the bloodied baseball bat in hand and a smugness laced into her features.

"Never met a blind man who could fight like you before;" she remarks, pulling the bat backwards, "Let me teach you why it should stay that way."

The first strike is to his stomach, and Matt would have doubled over if it weren't for the bald man that holds him. The next three or four are smacked into his legs, and Matt can't help but cry out in pain. His legs try to twist away from the hits, Matt practically squirming in the bald Russian's grasp, but it all seems to be to no avail, as sea salt lady can aim easily with her prey so easily trapped.

On the sixth swing of the bat, Matt takes the brief pause between the swing to try a new approach. The bald man's attention has lapsed, focus upon the bat now as he seems to enjoy the violence before him. It gives Matt time to suddenly haul his body weight forward whilst crouching, attempting to throw the Russian up and over his head.

It doesn't quite work, as the bald man is squarer and heavier in build than Matt, but the blind man's sudden movement surprises the Russian enough that he's at least bent over a little and on his tip toes. So Matt goes for the second best option - he leans to the right (away from the baseball bat that arcs over his head from sea salt lady's swing) sending himself and the Russian man sprawling to the floor. The bald man's grip slips, and that's all the blind man needs to squirm free.

Scrambling away from his attackers, Matt can sense that his white cane has fallen just to his right, pretending to blindly fumble his hands along the icy ground until he locates it. He grasps it just in time: a baseball is swung down at him just as Matt turns his body around and brings up his white cane to block it. The cane bends a little under the strain, almost snapping. But it manages to endure the blow, allowing Matt to roll to the right in order to avoid a second hurl of the bat down towards him. When her bat smacks into the floor, the vibration that races up from it and into her arms causes sea salt lady to be stunned for a split second - a split second long enough for Matt to take advantage. Launching himself up and at her, his left hand that holds his cane blindly grasps onto a part of her shirt, whilst his right grips onto the intended target.

Matt yanks hard, trying to haul Hawkeye's bow up and over the Russian's head. Sea salt lady practically growls, grabbing at the bow with one hand whilst curling the bat up towards Matt with the other. Without thinking, Matt instinctively swats at the bat that flies towards him with his cane, directing it's blow down to the icy floor below. Sea salt lady freezes, utter surprise and confusion flooding her, and that's when Matt realises that he screwed up. That a blind man wouldn't have known about the incoming blow. That he'd let the Devil out...

Forcing himself to smother the rising panic, Matt takes the chance that he's been presented with. He yanks, and the bow comes off the Russian's shoulders, Matt immediately springing backwards and onto his feet, attempting to dash away. Snapping out of her shock, sea salt lady launches herself at the blind man in a grasping panic, managing to snag his foot, Matt stumbling and almost crashing back to the floor. Managing to stay on his feet, Matt doesn't know how long this luck of his will last, as the Russian woman is yanking at his foot, desperate to trip him over. His world on fire detects the approaching bald Russian as well as a third one, the raging flames across their faces all the indication Matt needs that the blind man has backed himself into a corner here. As soon as he hits the ground, he's in for a world of pain.

Clint's just a little ways up ahead, brawling his own set of three Russian's. He currently has one man in a headlock as he runs, using his momentum to hurl said man a little and send him stumbling into another, Clint taking a kick from the third Russian and retaliating by stabbing an arrow into the man's leg.

"Hawkeye!" Matt cries out, forgetting temporarily that Clint probably can't hear him easily (hearing aids can only do so much). But it seems that doesn't matter, because with his three Russian's distracted, the archer's head darts towards Matt. He begins to turn, fists clenched and slightly shaky, about to storm his way into the blind man's approaching attackers. But he pauses, seemingly spotting the black bow in Matt's hands... and a silent understanding washes over his body. A calm within the storm. Both knowing exactly what Matt's about to do.

Sea salt lady yanks one last time, and Matt's about to be sent to the floor. But just before he falls, his arm pulls back, black bow sent soaring through the sky. It spins as it goes, almost graceful in it's arc, the bald Russian and his friend spotting it in a panic, both attempting to catch it a little too late. The bald man's fingertips skim over the bow as it bolts past him, Clint diving to his left, the bow landing back into it's home within the archer's calloused grasp.

Hawkeye smirks. He yanks the arrow out from the leg of the Russian behind him (causing the rather exhausted man to yelp) and loads it, taking aim.

The Russian beside the bald man can't even dodge. The electro-arrow smacks straight into his head, and with a _zzt, zzt, zzt,_ he's collapsed beside Matt within barely three seconds. Speak of the Devil, and Matt is currently rolling onto his back, using his white cane this time to block a punch from sea salt lady, who has crawled on top of him to pin him down. She continues to rain blows down upon Matt, sometimes successfully punching him and sometimes hitting the white cane, relentless and persistent as she cries out with blind rage on each strike. The bald man has moved to the side and crouched to pick up the baseball bat that sea salt lady abandoned, but Hawkeye has charged over and bulldozed into him before the Russian can even finish standing up. The two go crashing into the wall of Hawks and Paws, Lucky pouncing up at the window from the inside and scratching his claws along it, barking and snarling and scrambling to find a way to go and help Clint. Instead, Hawkeye's gaze drifts towards his arrows that are scattered around the three recovering Russian's that he was fighting earlier, before the bald man punches him hard enough to cause a nosebleed, a metallic stench piercing the air yet again.

Matt's not fairing so well either. He's continuing to try and block the hits from sea salt lady, but that's hard to do when he's supposed to be fully blind, and therefore can't be one hundred percent accurate with his defences. He eventually gets desperate and goes for a random swing with his white cane, only for the Russian to catch it, knuckles turning white due to her harsh grasp. The small game of tug and war is futile - pinned to the ground as he is, Matt doesn't have a chance of winning. Wrangling the white cane from him, sea salt lady turns her head to her right, smirks, and tosses the cane to the floor. Before the blind man can try and reach for it, he realises that two of the three Russian's Hawkeye had been fighting earlier have made their way over to join their comrades, and one of them now steps on his white cane. After all the blows and punches it's taken throughout this fight, two strong stomps with the Russian's heel is all it takes for the cane to snap in half.

_Shit._

The Russian's smirk, and Matt does all he can: shield his head with his forearms and hang on.

One of the Russian's splits away from the group to presumably go beat up Hawkeye with the bald man, but that doesn't make this any worse. With sea salt lady pinning him down like this, it'll be easy for the two Russian's to punch and kick Matt as they please. The blind man's mind drifts back to the incident from barely nights ago - kicking, punching, screaming. Pain. The black void of his smothered world on fire as his punishment for getting caught.

The Russian stood beside sea salt lady pulls back his leg for a well-aimed strike, and the deja-vu causes Matt to actually shiver. Maybe he's suddenly starting to realise why normal people don't get into fights they were specifically told to stay out of... or maybe he's just really light headed, because Matt's pretty sure he's hallucinating the sound of sirens in the back of his mind...

He remembers being eight years old. Remembers lying in his bed at night listening to those same sirens. Remembers trying to put stories to them, to figure out whether they were police or fire brigade or ambulance. And then he turned nine... and the sirens became deafening.

The Russian man's kick never lands. Both Matt and sea salt lady freeze up in surprise, the blind man registering the Russian man being knocked through the air. It's almost supernatural the way he flies, but what's even more supernatural is that he remains glued to the wall of Hawks and Paws once he smacks into it. Secured in place by something... sticky (Matt could hear the squelch of it as it connected with the wall)? It's something that spans out from a circular centre, forming a shape similar to a... a web?

_What?_

The lady who's sat in the Russian's van is suddenly yelling something in her home language, the fighting Russian's abandoning their position and sprinting towards the open back of the van. Sea salt lady practically throws herself off of Matt, bolting away as two of her comrades in front of her are also pinned to the wall by the mystery substance, the guy that Clint stabbed in the leg being one of them (and he seems more thankful than annoyed by this point). Hurling herself into the van, she and the bald Russian slam the doors to the van closed, and the vehicle zooms off down the street. Matt slowly sits up, and the sounds of sirens are suddenly real, a police car or two steering off in pursuit of the van as a third one pulls up outside Hawks and Paws, the officer's apparently needing a moment to take in the sheer chaos of the messed up slush of the once snowy street beside them before they can step out of their vehicle.

Taking in all this information at once means that Matt didn't realise someone was approaching him until they grabbed his arm. He lashes out in response, slapping at their hands and going for a punch, but he freezes mid-motion as the one who touched him speaks up:

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Matt!" Clint quickly gets out, letting go of the blind man and raising his hands in a 'I come in peace' sort of fashion, "Relax... it's me- it's me, Matt. There's no more bad guys, okay?"

Matt has to pause for a moment to take a deep breath or two, trying to calm his nerves, to get himself out of the fight or flight response he'd slipped into. Clint stays beside him that whole time, even crouching next to him, running a stressed and bloodied hand through his own hair, fingers catching on his hearing aids with a small wince... He speaks up again in the most gentle voice he can muster right now: "Are you okay? I just... yah didn't have to do that. You really didn't have to do that, man. Thank you, but... what were yah thinking? They could have killed you."

The blind man lifts up his scarf, holding it up so that Clint can read his lips as he tilts his head in the archer's direction, "And they could have killed you. So..."

"So what?" Clint snaps, starting to lose his cool a little, "I'm an Avenger, I go through this shit all the time! But you're... wait, how'd yah even know how to fight like that? You're... you know... not exactly... gonna be good at... aiming?"

"My father was a boxer." Matt shrugs, biting his lip a fraction to hide his small wince, because his body definitely doesn't ache almost all over, "I picked up a thing or two when I was younger."

Clint clearly isn't sure how to respond to that. Matt can tell that there's questions racing through the archer's mind, but instead of asking them, all Clint lets slip from his lips is a small: "Huh... Guess that makes sense..."

"Excuse me?" Echoes a third voice from up high. Matt pulls down his scarf immediately, covering his face again as his head twists behind him, trying to angle itself up towards the general direction the words came from. His world on fire shifts like rising tides of sand, moving and morphing until it paints the picture of a human in spandex perched upon the nearby lamp post. The human's outfit is a bit more than normal spandex though - it seems... robotic? There's definitely a taste of metal in the air anyway, sitting rather heavy on Matt's tongue... or maybe that's because of the splatters of blood around the place. Clint and Matt really did take a beating, huh?

"Are you guys okay?" The third voice speaks again, sounding relatively high pitched, but it's definitely a man's voice. Matt's pretty sure it is anyway; "I heard about a fight over the police radio, so thought I'd swing by and check on- wait... hey, mister? Mister, are you Hawkeye?"

The spandex wearing human's voice somehow gets higher in pitch, his heart also racing with flickers of excitement. Huh... seems like a _real_ Hawkeye fanboy has suddenly arrived. Speaking of Clint, Matt picks up that the archer has only just turned his head up towards the man on the lamp post, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, the deaf man staring awkwardly at the masked face of the spandex wearer. His hearing aids aren't softly buzzing like they usually do to Matt's ears - instead, they're deathly silent, and seem almost twisted. Are they broken? If so, with the spandex covering the new guy's face... yeah, Clint's not going to be able to participate in this conversation, is he? Glancing over his shoulder, Matt lifts up the bottom half of his scarf, very gently nudging Clint to get his attention, before speaking quietly to him: "He asked if you're Hawkeye."

The archer blinks in slight surprise, then nods in understanding, a small thankful smile quickly flashing across his lips. He then tilts his head back up to the man on the lamp post: "Yeah, that's me... and you're, um, Spiderman? Right?"

The man in spandex quietly gasps, and mumbles something lightning fast to himself beneath his breath. It's so quiet, that only Matt's ears would be able to pick it up: "OhmyGodHawkeyeknowswhoIamthat'ssocool!" The blind man can't help but smirk.

The rest of that afternoon goes by relatively smoothly. Spiderman swings away to help chase down the Russian's van, so the only remaining problem comes from the police. They're relatively relaxed about the whole gang violence situation, since Hell's Kitchen is known all too well for these kinds of things. But what they're not so happy about is Matt - they want to know who the hell he is, want him to take off his scarf-mask whilst they arrest Clint and Matt for affray and assault. Matt feels that fight or flight instinct trying to kick back in, fumbling over his words as he desperately tries to explain himself, his Daredevil instincts screaming at him to punch the cop and flee. Instead, Clint steps between Matt and the cops with a forced smile, flashes some papers that (according to the archer) basically say 'I'm an Avenger, so back off', and the cops reluctantly cave.

How many times is Daredevil going to get saved by an Avenger, exactly?

The cops reluctantly depart without pressing charges, leaving Matt and Clint by themselves once again. The deaf man offers to drive the blind man to the hospital, but Matt very quickly insists that he's fine and that he just wants to go home. The archer was about to hesitantly let Matt go, but the blind man scoops up the broken remains of his white cane, and Clint's heart races with guilt.

The deaf man's words are sincere and laced with concern: "At least let me walk you home, man. I know you'd probably be fine on your own, but... please? I just wanna make sure you get there okay."

Conflict rises within Matt's mind. He came here to find out why Hawkeye was in Daredevil's turf, and this meeting is going to end with Clint unknowingly visiting a very personal part of said turf if Matt lets the archer walk him home. Can he really risk it? Can an Avenger know where Matt Murdock lives without figuring out that he's Daredevil - _especially _when said Avenger has just seen Matt fight?

But he can sense through the unsteady rhythm of the archer's heartbeat that Clint is genuinely concerned for him. From his point of view, Matt has just put himself in immense danger for him, seemingly only because they've met twice and Clint made him a coffee. Of course the Avenger wants to return the favour by ensuring that the injured blind man gets home safely without his cane.

Can Matt really say no to a man who just wants to be kind?

_Yes, yes he can. To protect his alter ego, he can. Watch him say 'no' right now:_

"Okay."

_Dammit, Murdock!_

"But you can just walk me to my street corner," Matt adds, trying to ease his inner Devil by compromising, "I can make it home from there."

Despite the conflict in Matt's mind about all of this, Clint's sweet grin in response somehow makes it worthwhile. It really is like sunshine spills from his lips when he smiles...

Without another word, the duo go back into Hawks and Paws, only to be greeted by an assault of leaps and wet kisses from Lucky. Clint makes some joke about guide dogs as the blind man grabs his coat and the next thing Matt knows, he's being led along the pavement by a Labrador with a rapidly wagging tail, having to be stabilised by the archer to prevent the dog from pulling him over.

Matt walks down the street holding onto an Avenger's arm like it's nothing. People probably stare, but in that small moment, he doesn't particularly care. Maybe it's the rush from the earlier fight that's made him slightly giddy, or maybe it's the way Clint keeps making really dumb jokes to try and lighten up the atmosphere. Maybe it's the way that in that small moment, he forgets that he's Daredevil - he forgets that he's supposed to be keeping himself as far apart from Hawkeye as possible for his alter egos safety. He forgets everything about his vigilante side and allows himself to just be Matt Murdock, something he hasn't truly done in a long time.

(Well, there's only really one other person that allows him to be just Matt Murdock. His name is Deuce.)

...Did Matt just befriend an Avenger? Yeah, it feels like he might have just done that by mistake.

The blind man can get mad at himself about that later. For now, he's just going to pretend that this journey will last for longer than he knows it will, going to pretend that Clint's cringe-worthy jokes aren't actually making him laugh, going to pretend that he and this man didn't just get into a fight together and come out the other side as if nothing happened.

It may be winter in Hell's Kitchen, but Matt can feel his heart starting to thaw.

[🦆🏹]

Monday mornings used to be semi-stressful within the law firm. Instead, when Matt enters Nelson and Murdock with Deuce following suit (and a spare white cane he hastily found buried in his apartment last night) he's pretty sure he'd be able to feel the stares from Foggy and Karen (stood near the front desk) from another galaxy.

"Is my tie back to front or something?" Matt awkwardly asks, closing the door behind himself and his German Shepard.

"Thankfully not," Karen responds with a small sigh, "That would only add to the weirdness."

"...Sorry?" Matt's now also confused.

Foggy swipes up some new objects that Matt doesn't recognise from the front desk, talking as he does so, "You know, we don't normally get mail unless it's people screaming at us to pay them. But I woke up early today, and guess what I found outside of our door? Not just an envelope, but a tin of dog treats, and - now this is the miracle - a tin of instant coffee!"

What? Why on Earth would there be dog treats and coffee outside of Nelson and Murdock? As Matt puzzles over this (Deuce cocking it's head up towards it's human, it's floppy ear and slightly tilted head allowing it to pull off an equally confused expression) Foggy makes his way over to the blind man, pushing the envelope into his hands. Before Matt can ask why, Foggy already answers him: "It's got your name on it. We were kinda hoping that it might explain... I dunno, something."

There's a brief pause as an expectant silence fills the room, before Matt turns the envelope over in his hands. He runs his fingertips along it until he finds the seal, gently opening the letter to gain access to the contents inside. When he puts his hand in, he feels paper thin rectangles, and registers the ink running through them... Oh.

_Oh._

Matt pulls out the money from the envelope. Foggy actually gasps, and Karen's eyes widen, jaw ever so slightly dropped.

"Holy crap," Foggy exclaims, "That's... wait, Matt, can I-"

Matt hands the cash over without another word needed. Foggy immediately runs it through his fingers, counting beneath his breath, having to count through the money a second time just to check that his discovery is real.

"Matt..." Foggy begins, and the blind lawyer knows that tone of voice. That voice is only used when his best friend really, really wants something, and is about to barter his ass off to get it: "Matt, I know this is your money... But this is almost enough to pay for our rent-"

"Really?" Karen blurts out, nothing but hope within her voice as she steps over towards the two lawyers (and the thoroughly confused German Shepard that's wondering why it's still leashed, muzzle pointed towards it's cosy dog bed rather longingly).

"Really really." Foggy clarifies, beginning to grin, the hope making it's way into his voice too, "If we just combine this with some of our savings... Nelson and Murdock can stay afloat for at least another month. And it's nearly Christmas, so you know, if there's ever a time to get clients, it's coming up pretty soon."

Foggy does have a point there. Besides, it's not like Matt needs this much money anyway, whoever it's from. The blind man smiles: "Looks like Nelson and Murdock's saved then, huh?"

Karen and Foggy practically beam with excitement, Foggy even making a childish fist pump gesture, Karen giggling in response. Deuce's attention is distracted away from it's bed at the sudden change in atmosphere, it's head turning between the three humans with a completely lost expression. Matt gently pets his canine's head in response, scratching behind it's ears, causing the German Shepard to close it's eyes and lean it's head into the wonderful touch.

"Well, who are we thanking then?" Karen speaks up, gesturing towards the letter, "Surely there's a note inside, right?"

"Not that I can find," Matt explains, demonstrating his point by stuffing his hand inside the envelope again and shuffling it around. Nope. Nothing. Emptied of all of it's contents now that the money is held delicately within Foggy's hands, the lawyer counting through the cash for a third time as if it still hasn't quite clicked within his mind that this situation is reality.

So that just leaves the question begging: who would leave dog treats, coffee and cash outside Nelson and Murdock anonymously and address these things to Matt? The blind man assumes that this is something he'll have to puzzle over for a while, but instead, his mind drifts back to yesterday. To coffee that he admitted he hadn't had in a while. To money troubles that had briefly been discussed...

_Oh, for crying out loud!_

Matt stiffens, and suddenly he's moving to bin the envelope, before heading towards the front door.

"Hey, hold on, what's the rush?" Foggy queries, he and Karen staring towards Matt with renewed confusion as the blind man reluctantly pauses, turning his head back towards the direction of his friends.

Matt doesn't really want to explain this situation. They wouldn't believe him anyway; "I... need to go and talk to someone."

Karen doesn't beat around the bush: "You think you know who gave you the money?"

"Is it that sugar mommy kind of girl you dated?" Foggy teases, before hastily adding, "Though it better not be Matthew, because you know what happened last time, and she-"

"What? No." Matt quickly interjects, wanting to spare Karen that sob story. "It's not Elektra." Not wanting to stick around for any more embarrassing teasing from Foggy (and highly questionable eyebrow quirks from Karen) he starts to turn towards the door, attempting to leave.

Foggy speaks up with a smirk just before Matt can: "Maybe a sugar daddy, then?"

Matt knows his best friend meant it as a pure joke. He knows that Foggy doesn't think he's gay or something - they both _know_ that he's straight. But the whole idea of sugar mummy's or daddy's is what causes colour to ever so slightly dust across his cheeks, purely because the topic itself is embarrassing. Totally for no other reason. Matthew Murdock is a very straight, good Catholic boy.

"I need to go." Matt all but splutters out, borderline bolting out of the door with Deuce in tow. The confused canine trots after it's master, turning it's head back towards the curious and slightly concerned faces of Karen and Foggy who poke their heads out from the door of Nelson and Murdock, watching Matt speed away. If dogs were capable of shrugging, that's what Deuce would offer to the two friends who are just as stumped as the canine about all of this.

Matt, meanwhile? He's thinking about a million different ways to punch Hawkeye in the face.

Well, a gentle punch. The man did just save his company after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took nearly a month to write. My quarantine brain was just dreading writing a fight scene, but hey, I'm quite happy with how it turned. Fingers crossed the next chapter won't take as long for me to get to.


	7. My Defender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Walking in a winter wonderland... or hell kitchen, I guess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who's read the previous chapters before the 20/May/2020: I edited a couple of things in chapters 5 and 6 to do with Clint and his hearing, because there was a continuity error related to when he was and wasn't wearing his hearing aids. Plus, I'm just new at writing deaf characters, so I've gone back and tried to adjust a couple of sentences to make it clearer that he's lip reading. I still think I have plenty of room for improvement though (same with writing Matt's blindness) so if I go back and make any more minor adjustments, I will let you guys know! Also, if anyone has tips for writing deaf and blind characters, please don't hesitate to leave a comment with said tips, because it would really help me out. ^_^ Thank you!
> 
> (If you don't want to read back, the only real difference is that Clint's hearing aids broke during the fight against the Russians, which is why he couldn't understand what Spiderman was saying, as the spandex prevents lip reading).
> 
> Now, back to our irregularly scheduled chapter update~.

_Clang, clang._

Clint still hasn't fixed the wonky entry bell for Hawks and Paws, it seems. Matt doesn't particularly care, though - stood here in the store with Deuce beside him, the blind man is focused on one thing, and that's demanding answers from Clint. Just because Matt punched a couple of guys for Hawkeye doesn't mean that he deserves as much money as he heavily suspects was gifted to him by the archer.

Speaking of Clint, however, this front area of the store seems surprisingly empty. There's only one heartbeat, and that's Lucky, the Labrador having immediately trotted his way over to Deuce once Matt had entered, the two dogs currently sniffing each other's noses as their tails sway gleefully from side to side. Smiling a little, Matt extends a hand and offers Lucky a pet, the dog eagerly receiving it as his mouth drops open in a lazy sort of smile. Deuce immediately becomes jealous, nuzzling it's muzzle into Matt's hand, nudging Lucky out of the way as the German Shepard does so. Matt chuckles softly, letting Deuce's lead slide further down around his wrist so he can use both hands to pet the dogs, the swaying of their tails looking like two sparklers being dragged side to side amongst his world on fire

_Focus, Murdock!_

Where's Clint? With a little bit of concentration, Matt picks up on more heartbeats behind a door that's on the wall opposite him to his right - five tiny canine heartbeats and two human ones that Matt recognises. One is Clint, muffles of the archer's usual slurred and stuttered tone echoing from the other room, and the second... wait. No, surely Matt read that heartbeat wrong?

_Spiderman is here?_

Before Matt has time to even process this, the door to that second room comes swinging open, and Clint walks out mid conversation with a... kid? A teenager to be specific, with swept back curly hair and a beaming smile on his face, cradling a small Staffie puppy in his arms. Matt recognises said Staffie - it's the awe-filled one from the time where he saved five pups from sea salt lady with Clint. Regardless, when it comes to the human heartbeats, Matt must have misheard them. Clearly a teenager _cannot_ be Spiderman. Right?

Then again, if a blind man and a deaf man can be superheroes... what's stopping a kid from giving it a go? Especially if they just so happen to have spider-like super powers.

"...and if yah just wait here while I go get the paperwork yah gotta sign, then you're all good to g-oh." Clint's gaze flickers from the teen to Matt, only having just spotted the blind man, offering a casual grin his way, "Hey Matt."

Matt smiles a little awkwardly in response, pausing the pets that he's giving to Deuce and Lucky as he tilts his head up towards Clint, "Hello... Sorry, am I interrupting something?"

"Nah, you're good, we're just wrappin' up." Clint explains with a dismissive hand gesture, shuffling his way over to behind the front desk. The teen, meanwhile, darts his head between Clint and Matt, clearly uncertain as to where to go now. His gaze tilts this way and that, almost as if he's focusing in on certain parts of the blind man, namely his scarlet scarf and white cane... before the kid's heart flickers with an emotion Matt can't quite figure out.

Regardless, the blind man moves to take a seat amongst the same sofa he sat on yesterday when he was sharing a coffee with Clint. He purposefully sits in a way that puts more weight upon his right hand side, as his left leg took the most damage out of his two legs during the Russian brawl. It's nothing too bad - Matt can still walk just fine, after all - but the less weight he puts on it, the faster it'll heat. At least, that's what Claire told him anyway... Regardless, Deuce takes a seat to the right of it's owner, head tilting towards the teen and the petite pup he cradles in his arms. The little Staffie is currently sniffing at the kid's denim jacket, relaxed and joyful within the teen's arms, tiny tail poking out and tapping softly against the jacket's sleeves. As for the third dog within the room, Lucky has opted to flop to the floor right on top of Matt's left foot, causing the blind man to hiss quietly at the slight pain it sparks within him. So much for putting less weight on his leg...

There's a small slap as Clint tosses a file out from the drawers of the front desk and onto it's top part, nudging the drawer shut with his hip as he leans against the desk, flicking through the file until he finds what he's looking for. Sliding a piece of paper onto the desk, Clint pokes a pen to get it to roll and land beside said paper, the teen with the puppy moving hastily over to the front desk as Clint speaks up: "There yah go. Yah just gotta sign um... there. And um... here. And boom: she's all yours, man."

Ever so slightly bouncing with enthusiasm, the teen smiles, "Thank you Mr Hawkeye!" before his head tilts down towards the pup in his arms. He gently puts her down on the floor, giving her a quick stroke whilst he's crouched there, grinning at the way the little Staffie lets out a happy yap in response. The kid then stands up and and reaches for the pen, ready to fill out his task.

Clint doesn't respond to the teen's words, having not been looking in his direction when he spoke, instead turning around to quickly dip into the door behind the front desk and returning with a mug full of coffee within his calloused grasp. Matt listens for the soft buzzing that comes with Clint's hearing aids, but hears nothing but the scratch of the pen against the paper, as well as the pitter patter of paws against the wooden floor as the Staffie begins to sniff around the store front. Ah... maybe Clint didn't have a spare pair, then. Matt's starting to feel lucky that he's decided to always have a spare white cane tucked away somewhere within his apartment, just in case... though, he usually just loses them instead of letting them be shattered by an angry Russian or two.

"Soooo," Clint's voice interrupts Matt's thoughts, taking a slug of his coffee, before focusing his gaze upon the teen in front of him, "Yah got any idea what to name her?"

"Err..." the teen clicks the end of the pen thoughtfully, before shyly rubbing at the back of his neck, "Not really... Have you got any suggestions?"

"Ummm..." Clint tilts his head towards the Staffie that is currently waddling towards Matt, Lucky and Deuce, eyebrows furrowing thoughtfully, "I dunno... 'Blue', maybe? 'Coz she's blue and all? I ain't very good with names." Shrugging, Clint's gaze shifts up towards the blind man, "How about you, Matt? Yah know any names? Not um, not tennis score names though."

Matt sighs softly at Clint's tease, wishing he knew how to hide his small smirk without covering his mouth. Regardless, he speaks in a rather tired tone, no longer able to count on his hand how many times he's had to explain this: "Deuce isn't named after the tennis score. It's Spanish."

The teen glances over his shoulder at Matt, raising an eyebrow. He speaks up rather sheepishly, "You... you named your dog number two, then?"

Clint manages to catch the last part of the kid's words; he can't help but snigger a little, trying to hide it behind a swig of his coffee. Matt's smirk vanishes, the teen tensing up in response.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean-" the kid begins to nervously splutter.

Matt cuts him off with a dismissive gesture similar to the one Clint made earlier, "It's fine. You're not wrong. It wasn't intentional, though... He just only obeys Spanish."

That causes a surprised and curious pause to fill up the room, all three human heads turning upon the German Shepard, who merely cocks it's head up towards Matt. It's jaw drops into a dopey smile, the canine nuzzling it's muzzle beneath Matt's right hand, forcing it's owner to give it a small pat on the head. Matt then proceeds to continue idly stroking his dog, picking up on the way that the teen's gaze has drifted down to the crimson scarf around his neck again, before Clint speaks up: "Well, kid, yah filled in those forms?"

There's a pause before Clint speaks again, so Matt assumes the teen nodded.

"Great! Then for two hundred an' fifty dollars, Miss Staff is going home with yah." Clint says with a delighted grin. The kid's hands quickly fish out his wallet, the beep of a credit card machine filling up the silence of the store, before the shuffling of paper replaces it as Clint begins to file away the document the teenager signed. Said teen begins to turn his gaze around the store, heartbeat flickering with a small burst of worry as his face scrunches up into a frown. Though, his features quickly soften again as he finds what he was searching for: the little blue Staffie, who is currently pawing at the much bigger Labrador, Lucky lifting up his head to sniff curiously at the small bundle of life in front of him. Matt isn't sure how he ended up being surrounded by literally all of the dogs, but hey, he's not complaining. Especially when Lucky finally moves off of his left foot, allowing his leg to relax a little as the Labrador retreats, following his owner (who has presumably disappeared back into the room behind the front desk to re-fill his coffee mug) leaving the little blue Staffie to whine in disappointment. Though, the pup quickly returns to wagging gleefully again as it's scooped up into the arms of the teenager, attempting to lick the boy's face, but not quite able to reach it.

Taking a step back from the blind man, the teen turns as if about to leave the store... but pauses, gaze once again aimed towards Matt's scarf. The lawyer shifts uncomfortably, only relaxing a little when Deuce rests it's muzzle upon his right leg to stop him from moving, and that's when the kid with the Staffie speaks up, "Sorry Mister Matt, but are you... areyoutheblindguythatkickedass?"

Huh? Did Matt hear that right? It was spoken so fast and sheepishly that he probably misheard the teen; "Sorry?"

"Are you the blind guy that kicked ass?" the teen repeats, a little slower this time, but still overall racing with nerves and excitement, "There was this fight outside this building and like, Mr Hawkeye was there, and obviously that was really cool, but there was also this blind guy - well, I assume he was blind 'coz he had a cane like yours - and he also got in the fight and he was really, really badass, and I kinda thought 'hey, maybe he's a new superhero!' 'coz he was wearing this red scarf like a mask, and it kinda looks like your scarf, and-"

The teen eagerly rambles on, but Matt's heard enough. He stiffens in his chair, hand freezing where it was scratching behind Deuce's ears.

_He saw the fight? Then how many other people have seen it? How many witnesses were there yesterday?_

"Sorry," Matt interrupts the kid as smoothly as possible, needing to shut down this conversation before his anxiety gives himself away, "But that's not me. I didn't even know there was a fight yesterday."

The teen clams up ever so slightly when he realises how long he'd gone on for, almost like a tortoise trying to shrink into it's shell, "Oh? Ah. Sorry, I didn't mean to assume anything! I just, errr... saw it in this video that my friend sent me... and I dunno, I just thought it'd be cool if it was you."

_Shit. Someone filmed it? Shit, shit, shit!_

Matt opens his mouth and closes it, nerves racing through his body as he tries to think of how on Earth to respond to all of this. He attempts to dispel them by forcing a laugh at the teen's words: "Well, thank you, but I'm not that cool."

"Lies, Mr Murdock!" comes the slightly slurred voice of Clint, who appears beside the teen (the poor short kid nearly jumping out of his skin, the cradled Staffie letting out a confused yap in response), "You're cool. Hell, I bet you could kick ass if you really wanted to."

Oh great. Thanks for the cover, Clint. Very helpful.

Matt's tense again, thinking that he's going to remain so until he can invent a good alibi for himself, before Clint pushes not one, but two coffee mugs onto the small table. One is full of Hawkeye's usual black coffee, whilst the other contains a slightly more milky coffee. The archer purposefully slides the latter in front of Matt, speaking with a grin as he does so, "You'd rather kick someone's ass in court than on the street though, wouldn't yah?"

Matt almost doesn't catch Clint's words, because the surprise coffee is what he's mostly focused on. Is Clint making this a habit? Gifting Matt things he doesn't need or ask for? It's not a good habit in Matt's eyes - he'd rather handle things on his own, maybe even earn things, not just have them handed to him - but he finds himself smiling a little regardless.

Dammit Mr Barton, stop being so nice. Though, it helps to remind Matt of why he came here exactly: "Speaking of being in court... we need to talk, Clint."

"Mmm, figured we would." Clint replies, dragging a hand down the side of his neck. He pauses for a little while in thought, before his head turns towards the teenager, "Anyway, shouldn't yah be headin' home now kid? Your old man's gonna get worried otherwise."

The teen's face scrunches up in rather adorable confusion, tilting his head towards Clint as he speaks, "Huh? I, er... told you I live with my aunt?"

"Oh yeah. I meant Tony, but your aunt works too." The deaf man shrugs.

The teen's whole body snaps towards the archer, heart starting to race, "W-Wait, as in... Mr Stark?"

"Yeah?" Clint quirks an eyebrow towards the teen, "You're his intern, right Pete? Kinda hard to not recognise you from how much Tony talks 'bout yah."

'Pete' remains stiff with surprise for a while, before the way his body lights up makes Matt think that his eyes might be sparkling like twinkling stars. The teen's grin is so giddy and bright that Matt's world on fire registers it as a sort of shiny ember, flickering away in glee. His heart rate continues to race to further prove his excitement, reminding Matt that if he's really reading Pete's heartbeat right, this teen may somehow be Spiderman himself. If the blind man is right with this detection... then if Daredevil catches Spiderman on his turf, maybe he won't gruffly demand that he leaves. Maybe he'll ask as politely as a vigilante that dresses up as the Devil can, since Pete seems like such a sweet kid.

Regardless, Pete lifts up his arm to check the watch strapped to it and makes a very hasty retreat with the Staffie, exclaiming something about how Hawkeye was right and that his aunt really will be pissed about how long he's been out for. Matt and Clint are left alone, both of them taking a rather awkward sip from their coffee mugs in sync, Clint opting to sit on the chair that's next to the sofa Matt's on and Deuce is now lying down in front of. Time to finally talk about the elephant in the room, huh?

Matt speaks first to break the building tension, making sure to tilt his head towards the deaf man, "Firstly, thank you for the coffee."

Clint mumbles something along the lines of 'you're welcome' into his coffee mug.

Matt continues: "But secondly, this morning I walked into my office to find that 'someone'," he punctuates the air with quotation marks for Clint's sake, "had left dog treats, coffee and a lot of money on our doorstep. Want to tell me why, Clint?"

Lowering the now almost empty mug, the deaf man merely grins sheepishly, feeling like a kid that's been caught reaching their hand into the cookie jar. Matt quirks an eyebrow at the silence, and Clint huffs out a sigh. He pretends to check his arm for a watch despite Matt's world on fire detecting that his wrist is empty, "I don't know 'bout you, but I normally walk my dog close enough to this time. You and Deuce wanna come with? We can chat on the way, I promise. I just... want a change of scenery."

'No you don't', Matt thinks. Clint instead is looking for a way to reduce the time they'll spend talking about this subject. They could sit here in Hawks and Paws and talk all day without really being disturbed, but if they talk about it on a dog walk? Well, the walk has to end at some point, doesn't it?

Smart play, Hawkeye. Luckily for the deaf man, the blind man does kind of need to return to his work at some point, so talking over a dog walk is also more convenient for him, too.

"Sure." Matt simply states. Clint's mouth curls into a relieved smile in response. Downing the rest of his coffee in one swig, the archer slides the empty mug back onto the table and practically leaps to his feet, Deuce lifting it's head up to flick it's gaze towards the deaf man in surprise. Shuffling behind the front desk, Click plucks an oversized coat from the swivel chair behind said desk, slugging it on as Matt politely finishes his own coffee and also stands. He pauses, however, hands moving to fiddle with the ends of his scarf, before reluctantly unwrapping it from around his neck. He folds it up and tucks it into one of his coat pockets with a small sigh, thinking about how he'll probably have to throw it away once he gets home. If Pete can almost recognise him because of it, then it's safe to assume anyone who's seen footage of the fight can too...

Matt shivers at the thought. Clint notices.

"You wanna borrow a beanie?" He asks, all sweet and unaware of Matt's thoughts, "Yah can at least keep your ears warm, then."

The blind man shakes his head. Cold as he might get, Clint's already given him enough 'gifts' today. The archer shrugs in response, tugging on a beanie of his own, before the dogs are leashed up and the two men depart into the freezing forge that is the streets of Hell's Kitchen.

[🦆🏹🐕]

Turns out going outside in the middle of winter with nothing but a suit and tie is not a good idea. Turns out that Matt is shivering a lot more than he thought he would, but trying to hide it and keep his cool, wanting to focus on the topic behind why they're on this dog walk in the first place. But it also turns out that Clint is rather brilliant at dodging a conversation, using the environment around the two walkers as a distraction, describing everything in sight to Matt as if the blind man is missing out on something huge. But in reality, Matt's pretty sure he didn't need to know about the rings on the hand of the food stall worker who gave Clint his fifth coffee of the morning; nor a flock of pigeons that looked like they were having a really dramatic street fight; nor the multi-coloured graffiti on a brick wall that reminded Clint of some long Avengers-related story, allowing him to go on yet another unnecessary tangent. Clint isn't even all too good at describing everything - he stumbles over all of his sentences, struggles to figure out what words to use or how to phrase things, and ends up confusing Matt more than anything else.

By the time the two of them reach the dog park (the deaf man unleashing the all-too-eager Lucky and the blind man tentatively making the extendable dog lead go loose so that Deuce can play with the Labrador) it seems that Clint's describing has become more than just a distraction now. No, the archer has made this into a full on game that he's rather determined to win. Matt sighs, politely tilting his head towards Clint as the two of them stand beside a bench next to the lake in the park, Matt shivering from the chilling breeze as the deaf man extends his hand with the coffee cup in it towards the water, beginning to speak again.

"Okay, so... so at the left hand edge of the lake, there's this family of ducks, right? There's a mamma duck and her kids, and she's all brown... um... how do I describe brown? Like... like dirt!"

"Dirt?" Matt queries.

Clint nods with a confident grin, "Yep."

"Right..." Matt quirks an eyebrow, "So she's... not clean?"

The confidence wavers: "No... Well, I mean, she um, she probably _isn't_ clean. 'Coz she's a duck and all. But I didn't mean it like that - she's just brown because she's, well, brown. That's the colour of her feathers."

"Okay?" Matt isn't sure why the duck's colour is relevant, but he's learnt it's just best not to question things by this point - otherwise Clint could just go on trying and failing to describe things forever.

"Yeah." Clint continues after sipping a bit of his coffee, "So the mamma's brown, and she's leadin' her kids along to the lake, and they're tiny baby ducks. Newborns maybe. Really tiny. You could, um, you could probably fit them in your hands," Clint brings his hands together around his cup to try and mimic this statement, "And they'd feel really soft because they're basically little balls of fluff... with a yellow beak and feet obviously, but still mostly fluff."

Matt merely nods, though his mind drifts, trying to think of a way to steer this conversation back in the direction he wants it to go. Oddly enough, it ends up drifting back to his time at college, Matt chuckling quietly to himself as a memory is jogged. Clint pauses mid-sentence, awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck: "Ah... did I say somethin' weird again?"

"No, no, you're okay," Matt aimlessly waves a dismissive hand, before adjusting his grips on his leash and cane respectively as he idly speaks, "It's just... My friend used to call me a duck."

Clint's eyes widen at that, and then they narrow again, studying Matt's lips as if believing he read them incorrectly, "Huh?"

"A 'wounded handsome duck', I think he said." Matt elaborates with a shrug, chuckling a little again at the memory of when he and Foggy met in their dorm room. Those first few carefree days at college almost seemed like an alternate dimension compared to the realities of hard-hitting life.

For a man who's whole superhero identity is framed around having the eyes of a bird, Clint seems to be having a hard time processing Matt's nickname. Though, before he can ask more questions, the lawyer takes the opportunity to begin steering this conversation back in his desired direction: "Funny to think that Foggy would go from giving me weird nicknames to owning a company with me... Though, without that 'mysterious' donation this morning, our company probably wouldn't be here for much longer."

There's a splash from the lake - too miniature for a dog, so that rules out that concern. The slightly panicked quacks that follow the splash quickly explain away the situation though, concerned words sliding out of Clint's lips, "Aww, duck, no... m-maybe we should go and help it."

"It's a duck, Clint - I'm sure it'll be okay."

"But it's just so tiny... what if it can't swim properly yet? W-We should walk over there and-"

"_Clint_," Matt sternly begins, losing his patience. Clint tenses up dramatically in response, causing the blind man to immediately regret his tone, trying to slip back into a calmer (but still insistent) one, hoping that the shape of his lips will become more rounded than sharp, "Can we please just talk about it? The sooner we talk about it, the faster it will be over and done with, okay?"

Silence fills the air between the two men for a little while, Clint hesitating, gaze shifting from Matt to the floor to the lake and seemingly towards the dogs on their right... before the archer drops onto the bench beside them with a sigh, having a slug of his coffee once he does so. Matt opts to take the empty spot next to Clint, feeling the leash in his hand slacken as Deuce trots back towards the two men. It's seemingly sensed someone in distress, because the German Shepard goes straight to the Avenger. A small lick is given to Clint's hand, the archer raising an eyebrow at first, before feeling Deuce situate itself between the deaf and blind man, sitting in such a way that it can lean back against the bench and tilt it's head backwards to stare up at Clint, tongue lolling out of the side of it's mouth. Clint can't help but smile a little at that, taking the opportunity to pet the dog, Matt listening to the slowly steadying beat of the archer's heart... before said archer speaks up, quieter than before:

"I wasn't originally gonna give yah all that money. I was just gonna get the coffee tin as a thanks for yesterday - the dog treats were also a bonus, 'coz I saw them in the shop and couldn't resist." Clint scratches Deuce behind the ears after that comment, and Matt can feel the German Shepard's tail start to rhythmically thump against his left leg, "But... I dunno. I kept staring at the coffee and thinkin' about how it's not fair, that I've got all this money sittin' around and you guys can't even afford a futzin' coffee tin. Just 'coz I've shot a bow and arrow at the right people enough times doesn't mean I should have as much money as I do... so I gave yah a bunch kinda spo-tan-ey-us-ly. Didn't really think it through and all."

Matt assumes Clint meant to say 'spontaneously' just then, but it doesn't really matter either way, "I... understand where you're coming from. But still, you didn't need to give us as much money as you did. You're an Avenger - you've saved the world many times over, Clint. You earned whatever money you have."

"But you save people too!" Clint interjects. Matt ever so slightly freezes up upon hearing that, hoping that it's subtle.

_No... Clint hasn't figured out that he's Dare-?_

"You're a lawyer, for heavens sake! It's kinda yah job to help people in need, right? To protect people through the law an' stuff?"

Matt relaxes with a little sigh, secret safe for now, "Well... You're not wrong. But compared to an Avenger, I can only do so much when it comes to saving people."

"And yet yah jumped into the fight with me without a lotta hesitation." Clint retorts. His hand that had been petting Deuce has paused, the archer too focused on the conversation to multitask, "You, a - no offence - regular ass blind dude would rather get beat on by the Tracksuits than just stand by an' watch... or listen... Whatever. Look, point is, there's only one other guy I know who has a strong enough sense of justice to throw themselves into a fight whilst blind and outnumbered, an' that's Captain America. Though, maybe Devil-man would too... but he'd probably throw himself into any fight for the hell of it, so err, never mind."

The blind man wants to smoothly cut in and defend his view on the situation - you know, actually use his degree in law for something - but the point he'd carefully constructed in his mind is lost amongst confusion, as he'd just been flattered and semi-insulted simultaneously. All Matt can do is awkwardly push his glasses further up his nose as Clint continues talking, lost in his tangent, head drifting from Matt and towards the floor, unfocused and not really paying attention to the exterior world.

"End of the day, anyone else would have just called for back up an' high tailed it outta there. But you didn't. You stayed." Clint takes a slightly shaky breath, and Matt instinctively starts focusing his world on fire onto Clint's body, trying to figure out what's wrong, to learn why his heart is starting to speed up again, "You had my back, an' that's-"

Deuce barks, head snapping sharply towards something. Both Hawkeye and Daredevil jump out of their skin.

Two pairs of shocked faces tilt themselves down towards Deuce, before Clint's head traces the dog's line of sight towards the lake, Matt understanding why when he hears a huff from a creature stood beside the water. It's Lucky, who was just about to engage in some playful duck chasing before a certain German Shepard had told him off, the Labrador instead shuffling with a lowered head over to the park bench. He sniffs the side of Deuce's muzzle, relaxing once the German Shepard's tail starts to sway back and forth against Matt's leg, the Labrador taking the opportunity to step backwards and flop onto Clint's feet, apparently finding such a position comfortable. Matt and Clint tilt their heads towards each other... before both men can't help but laugh.

Their laughter lightens the previously darkening mood, both of their heartbeats beginning to steady as they sit together, letting the world simply pass them by for a calming moment. Lucky shifts himself until he's taken up an obnoxious amount of space over Clint's (and even a little bit of Matt's) feet; Deuce props it's muzzle onto Matt's left knee to prompt the blind man to stroke him; Clint takes yet another sip from his coffee; and the faint quaking of a family of ducks echoes across the tiny ripples of water that they trail behind them.

Birds chirp. Wind rustles through the trees. Hell's Kitchen is peaceful... until the winter wind produces a particularly nasty gust. Clint withstands it just fine thanks to his huge coat, but Matt shivers rather intensely and hugs himself with one arm (his second hand still insisting on petting Deuce despite the weather).

"...Hey." Clint begins softly, head tilted thoughtfully towards Matt. He places his cup down in the gap between himself and Matt on the bench, his calloused hands then moving to his head, removing the woollen hat that resides there. Before Matt can even begin to question why, there's a soft beanie sliding over his wind tousled hair, "There yah go. Should help with your shiverin'."

The blind man opens his mouth to protest, but finds himself silenced by the way that Clint gives him an endearing pat on the head. Now, Matthew Murdock does not pout, but judging by the mischievous smirk on Clint's face, it seems that Matt just broke that no-pout streak. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration; "You really need to stop giving me stuff."

"Well, I ain't givin' yah this one." Clint shrugs, swiping up his coffee cup again, "Just lettin' yah borrow it 'til we get back. That is kinda my favourite beanie, so... yeah."

"Oh really?" Matt queries. An idea then formulates in his mind that may allow the deaf man to share Matt's frustration, and it's his turn to smirk. Does Clint still want to lose at the game he invented earlier? "Could you describe it to me?"

The deaf man stiffens a little, before his smirk returns, the archer seemingly catching onto Matt's plan thanks to the determined expression taking over Clint's features, "Sure. First off, it's purple. Dark purple, like... um... like... like the edge of the sky between sunset an' night. Yeah. And then it's got this big 'H' on it's centre, like H for Hawkeye. And that's pretty much it."

Huh... that was actually a good explanation. Though, how hard can a beanie be to describe? Regardless, Matt shrugs, a small smile gracing his lips, "Not bad."

Clint beams with pride at that, his grin registering as a golden glow of light within Matt's world on fire. He takes a triumphant sip of his coffee, Matt scratching Deuce behind it's ears as he does so... before the description falls into place within his mind. Purple? H for Hawkeye? "...Clint, isn't this your merch?"

The archer almost splutters on his own breath, "Wh-What? Nooooo..."

Liar. Matt can't help but laugh, resulting in the deaf man pouting.

"Hey, I'm not judging you," Matt insists, "It is pretty comfy." Remembering that he's supposed to be 'Matt Murdock the Hawkeye fanboy', the blind man hastily adds: "And I'd, er, I'd have merch from you too if I could afford it."

Clint forces out a laugh at that, mumbling his next sentence into his coffee (presumably because Matt wasn't supposed to hear it), "Maybe I should buy you a beanie."

The blind man's smile falters a little at that. Didn't they try to have this conversation earlier? Matt sighs; might as well get back to their original topic, then. He speaks up once Clint's turned his gaze back in his direction, "Speaking of affording things... Thank you for the money, Clint. I wasn't exaggerating earlier - Nelson and Murdock wouldn't make it past Christmas without it. But... I really don't like the idea of you just giving us free money."

The archer let's out a huff similar to the one Lucky made earlier, "You got your arse handed to yah for me yesterday - you earned that money. Buuuuut..." Clint's lips curl mischievously, "If you want another reason for me to pay yah so much, just consider it me hiring you guys, yeah?"

Oh great... he still wants Matt to help him with his paperwork, huh? Clint's lips retain their smirk, knowing that this is the perfect opportunity to reel Matt in.

_Hook, line..._

The lawyer sighs; he really shouldn't say yes to this. He's a defence attorney - business is not in his league. But the deaf man did just save his company, and he's being so sweet once again...

Dammit, what is it with Clint Barton? How has he wrapped Matt around his finger within days of the two meeting officially?

_Sinker._

"Fine..." Matt reluctantly agrees. Clint lights up like a star, evidently very pleased with this outcome, head turning down towards his dog as if wanting to give the Labrador a victory pet. Instead, he's met with a soft snore from Lucky who is still lying on the archer's feet, and has somehow managed to fall asleep in the middle of the park. Clint would normally pout at that, but his grin manages to not falter, the deaf man opting to have a final chug of his coffee as his small celebration instead.

"Though, you should probably pay us more directly next time," Matt hastily adds, shrinking into himself a little as he mumbles his next words: "My friends now think I have a sugar daddy..."

Clint nearly chokes on his coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I don't know when Matt and Clint became a non-sexy version of 'Say No To This' from Hamilton, but here we are folks. Lol).
> 
> Funny to think that Christmas will probably happen in this story before it does in real life... oops. That's poor time management for yah.


	8. A Silent Witness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canines and birds investigate further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who's read the previous chapters before the 10/June/2020: I edited a couple of things in chapters 1, 2, 3 and 7 to do with Matt and his blindness. As a certain Spicy Cannoli pointed out to me, I sometimes accidentally write things as if Matt were a seeing-person, so I've re-phrased a couple of things to try and portray Matt's blindness and world on fire more accurately.
> 
> (For those who don't want to read back, I've basically made it so that Matt isn't able to recognise a breed of dog until someone tells him what it is. Being blind, it wouldn't exactly be easy to know, and Matt doesn't start with enough knowledge about dogs to differentiate breeds with his world on fire alone. I also made a very small edit to chapter 7 - I simply no longer stated what the colour of Clint's beanie was, so (as that certain Cannoli suggested) the audience can learn what it looks like along with Matt. I am still going to describe some things that Matt shouldn't know the colour of with colour though, simply because it helps to paint a clearer picture in the reader's mind. But in general, I will try to avoid describing most things with colour when it's from Matt's perspective from here on out. Wish me luck, lol.)
> 
> Sorry about all that - I believe this should be the last time I go back and edit stuff, because I feel that I'm finally getting a hold on writing blind and deaf characters. From now on, there should be nothing but our usual irregularly scheduled chapter updates! ^_^

With a wide yawn from it's muzzle, the German Shepard slowly wakes up. It stretches it's front legs out, shifting it's body up and backwards to perform a long stretch, before rocking forward to stand up straight, shaking itself off. Teal orbs scan the dark apartment around it - the leather sofa with cushions scattered across itself and the floor from when Deuce had jumped up onto it; the round table accompanied by two small stalls, along with the soft waft of the smell of fruit that sits upon a tiny basket within it's centre; the wooden counter of the kitchen and it's cold rectangular container where all of the yummy scents originate from. The apartment of Deuce's new friend is always the same, though now that the German Shepard has come to stay, there are some new additions...

Glancing behind itself, Deuce nudges at the rough edges of it's round dog bed with it's muzzle, trying to push the fluffy warmth of the blanket the canine had curled up within back into the bed. As the dog does so, however, teal orbs end up spotting it's discarded rope toy, sitting ever so peacefully in front of the two large windows that reveal the snow trickling down softly amongst the dark blanket of the winter night outside. But Deuce could care less about the beautiful scenery - instead, it crouches, tail raised and wagging as it fixates upon the rope toy... before launching into a pounce. It's fangs sink down into the rope, Deuce shaking it's head and the toy back and forth frantically, growling playfully as it's tail wags faster.

Playing with toys by itself is fun, but it's even better when the dog's new favourite human gets involved. Bird Man (as Deuce calls him) has always been great to be around since the night he fell from the sky and into that dumpster. He hasn't been able to fly since, but it doesn't matter - Bird seems content with simply hanging out with Deuce, the two of them often going on walks together and Bird rewarding Deuce with really nice scratches behind the canine's ears. They've played with this rope between Deuce's teeth many times now, yanking it between each other for fun. Bird is strong for a human, always able to hold his own against Deuce's tugging with only one hand. But he always let's Deuce win - Bird's just kind like that.

Just as Deuce is about to trot towards Bird's room to demand that they play, the dog's non-floppy ear twitches, picking up something happening outside. Stepping closer to the window, the German Shepard gently puts it's toy back on the wooden floor, shoulders hunching as it peers out of the glass, head tilting curiously. Across the scary road that the roaring metallic monsters drive down during the day is an alleyway, and Deuce can just about make out three figures within it. One man is bald and clad in a tracksuit, snapping his teeth at the two men in front of him, fierce and yet with a hint of anxiety. Said two men are both covered in hooded cloaks - the difference is that the man with the sleek black cloak has dully glowing golden eyes from a mask he wears beneath his hood, whilst the man in the rugged scarlet cloak simply relies on the shadows of his hood to hide his face. They don't hide his irritated snarl, however, the man lashing out in that human language that Deuce doesn't understand. Whatever he says, it makes the bald man shrink back, and his tail would be between his legs should be have one.

A normal dog would just chock this off as weird and trot away, wanting to prioritise their play time above most else. But Deuce is a curious pooch - it begins to sniff at the window, little puff of the air from it's nose misting up the glass, the German Shepard determined to pick up some sort of scent from the three men. It's a lot harder to detect smells through the glass than it would be without it, but being a dog, Deuce is able to just about pick up one of their scents. And that scent is all the canine needs to begin to snarl.

Deuce remembers last week all too well. The dog remembers Bird stumbling home reeking of metallic blood. Remembers his nice human friend stopping by with her healing touch and concerned tone. Remembers Bird stumbling off towards the kitchen, only to crash down to the floor. Remembers the sting of panic in the air, remembers the way he clung to Deuce's fur for dear life...

_Remembers that Bird had the same scent as that tracksuit wearing man all over him._

Launching itself up at the window, Deuce scrambles against the glass, barking and growling for all that it's worth. It's tail drops stiffly between it's legs, paws beginning to pace back and forth against the wooden floor, alternating between banging against the window and pacing like a caged carnivore. Both ears flick back against it's skull, lips eternally curled back to reveal the German Shepard's pearly whites, barking and barking and barking until finally the three men glance it's way.

They stare for a little while, grumbling and shouting something in their human tongue, before the bald man throws a dismissive hand towards Deuce, turning and storming off into the alley ways. The black cloaked man follows, golden eyes narrowing as he goes, but the scarlet cloaked man remains for a little while. His lips form a straight line at first, then switch as their corners curl into an amused smirk, before - finally - the red cloaked man follows his two buddies into the alley way. Only once their scent fades from the night outside does Deuce's snarling begin to cease.

The dog stands quietly, staring boldly towards the alley way, tail now parallel to the floor beneath it as it's ears shift to point to the sides of it's head, the canine still cautious. It occasionally growls, the noise soft and more of a grumbled complaint, Deuce wishing there had been a better way for it to tell off that awful human who had hurt Bird...

Though, speaking of Bird...

"Deuce?" mumbles a sleepy voice. Tilting it's head back, teal eyes stare up at Bird, who's currently standing in the middle of the door to his room with a grey pillow in one hand and a wooden baton in the other. Bird's head also tilts, though his does so out of curiosity, "⌇⟒⍀⟟⍜⎍⌇⌰⊬?"

Ah... curse that strange human language. At least Bird uses a human tongue that Deuce can understand a little more - his friends (and most people in this city) use a language that Deuce has never heard of before. It's harsher and full of many complexities, compared to the softer and more easily flowing speech of the human language that Deuce somewhat understands. At the end of the day, it's the tone of voice that the canine pays attention to most - it's the easiest way to distinguish when a human is happy and unhappy. Bird's two closest friends are almost always happy towards Deuce, usually pausing throughout their busy day just to come and throw a ball for him. Bird's other friend (the one with that fun but mischievous Lucky) has a slightly weird speech tone; it's kind of slurred and hard to read, but since that strange man that smells like pizza always offers Deuce a pet when he sees the dog, it's safe to assume that Pizza Man is a happy human too.

Either way, Deuce doesn't mind the language barrier between itself and Bird - they can still communicate without speech. Like right now for example, where Deuce's mouth drops open into a pant and it's tail becomes less stiff, slowly starting to wag. Said wagging increases when Bird sighs, running a hand down his face, before stepping closer to Deuce.

The German Shepard is expecting a pat to the head - a job well done for protecting it's human - but instead, Bird crouches in front of it. Deuce's panting stops, the canine moving to turn towards it's human, sitting curiously as Bird begins to speak: "Deuce... you can't ☍⟒⟒⌿ barking ⎅⎍⍀⟟⋏☌ ⏁⊑⟒ night ⌰⟟☍⟒ this. There's nothing out there, okay? Please, ⋔⊬ ⋏⟒⟟☌⊑⏚⍜⎍⍀⌇ [= Something like nearby pack-mates?] ⋔⟟☌⊑⏁ call ⏁⊑⟒ ⌰⏃⋏⎅⌰⍜⍀⎅ [= An alpha human?] ⟟⎎ you ☍⟒⟒⌿ waking them up."

Bird's voice has sleep heavily clinging on to it, but the tone is clear enough: Deuce has done something wrong. Not something drastically wrong - Bird isn't snarling and snapping - but wrong enough that Bird's trying to use his deeper, more stern voice. That's practically impossible to achieve with how tired he is though, so Deuce quickly decides that it's going to be able to get away with whatever it has done wrong. Why? Simple. Bird has an easily exploitable weakness: he gives in easily when Deuce does something cute.

Leaning forward, the German Shepard licks Bird's cheek. The human tenses in surprise, receiving another few licks in response, before his lips slip into a smile. A chuckle even escapes his lips as he tries to gently push Deuce away, wanting the barrage of licks to stop.

See? Easy. Bird is great like that.

"Alright, alright..." Bird mumbles, and Deuce pauses, gazing expectantly up at it's human, ears pointed to attention (aside from his floppy one, which goes as high as it can). A soft tap is heard as the baton is placed onto the wooden floor, before a human hand slips behind Deuce's right ear, scratching at the canine's favourite spot, "⟊⎍⌇⏁ don't do it ⏃☌⏃⟟⋏, okay? Now... go ⏁⍜ bed, Deuce."

A few more scratches are given (Deuce's tap thump, thump, thumping against the wooden floor beneath it) before Bird stands, beginning to turn away from the German Shepard. Deuce makes a soft whine of disappointment, but knows it will be ignored - when Bird is tired, sleep is the only thing on his mind. He's so active most days and nights that when he finally does sleep, it's almost like a mini hibernation. Regardless, Deuce is a good boy, so when it's told to go to bed, it will.

Turning towards it's round plastic bed, the canine was about to clamber inside... but then it glances up towards the windows again. Just to ensure that those bad alley way men are gone, Deuce sniffs at the glass, double checking that the scent has faded.

Yep. Gone. Zero scent. Bird is safe...

_But is he really?_

Ears flicking back to the sides of it's head again, Deuce casts it's teal gaze towards the room that Bird sleeps within. It's gaze shifts between the room and it's dog bed - back and forth, back and forth, until the canine finally comes to a conclusion. If Deuce wants to ensure that it's human friend stays nice and safe, there's only one real way to do it...

Trotting into Bird's room, Deuce makes it's way straight over to the large human bed, before jumping up onto the covers. It steps beside it's human, opting to ignore the grumbled complaint that comes from Bird, instead flopping down beside him. No Bird - Deuce is not going back to it's own bed. It's staying here whether you like it or not, and the canine let's out a little defiant huff just to prove this, closing it's eyes to demonstrate it's clear intentions to fall asleep beside it's new friend.

Bird at first sits up, disbelief and irritation radiating off of his body, before reaching for that weird, small rectangular device that humans use. He clicks the screen, and the device beeps, before saying something in a monotone human tongue. Bird makes his own little huff then, tossing the device back onto the bedside table... before the bed shifts as the human lies back down on it, sighing deeply. The pillow he'd been holding this whole time is smacked down on top of his head, hands holding tightly to it at first, but slowly starting to relax as Bird begins to drift off to sleep.

Deuce isn't even sure why Bird gets the dog to sleep in the other room anyway: they both know that Bird sleeps better with the canine by his side. Feeling very triumphant, the dog's tail softly thumps against the bed sheets, Deuce snuggling down for the night as it lets out a content sigh.

With a wide yawn from it's muzzle, the German Shepard slowly drifts asleep.

[🐕🦆]

Perched atop a building that lies next to the harbour, Daredevil waits patiently amongst the shadows of the night, his world on fire waiting for any flickers of life that may appear down below. If the Russian's are going to appear anywhere, it's hopefully going to be here. If it's not here... well, Matt will keep searching. He needs answers - needs to know why the Russian's are apparently smuggling dogs so he can figure out an effective way to stop them. That, and if he's lucky, maybe he can also figure out why they went after Clint too. Though, Matt has half an idea about what the answer to that last curiosity may be. The Russian's had said something about Clint owing them money, right?

Why is a superhero in debt to a gang?

There's even more puzzle pieces than just these two, though. Matt remembers a few nights ago, where he was swarmed on by Russian's and beaten within an inch of his life. That night, he'd heard more than just Russian's talking. Spanish voices, other voices Matt couldn't recognise, all mixing into a cacophony of confusion within his mind. With so many different potential gangs and/or organisations uniting... Matt can't help but ask a question he rather dreads to propose: does Fisk have something to do with this?

No... no, he can't, right? Fisk had dealings with the Russian's, sure, but that was before he blew the majority of them to hell. Matt's also fairly certain that Fisk isn't doing deals with any Spanish gangs - in fact, Matt has been previously unaware of any Spanish criminal organisations in Hell's Kitchen at all. So is this a new threat? Something else to add to the plate on top of Fisk and random super-villains that pop in for a visit?

Matt sighs. At this rate, he's going to have to start typing everything up into a document just to keep track and make sense of it all. Why does everyone have to come to Hell's Kitchen all of a sudden? Manhattan's not so far away - that kid who was Spiderman could probably keep on top of another couple of bad guys, considering that there's quite a few other superheroes who like to help out in Manhattan too. Why can't all these criminals go pester the Avengers or someth-?

"Oh hey!" calls a familiar voice from behind Matt, the blind man registering the sound of footsteps moving towards him along with the archer's words, "Fancy seeing you here Devil-ma-"

"Shhh!" Matt cuts in, turning his head towards Hawkeye and placing a finger to his lips.

The footsteps pause, a small 'oh' punctuating the silence, before Clint speaks in a mumbled and slightly slurred tone: "Is this better?"

Matt nods, "...It'll do."

Clint doesn't really react at first, before he makes an awkward shrug. The archer moves beside Daredevil without another word, crouching next to him near the rooftops edge, peering down at the quiet dockyard below...

The phrase 'be careful what you wish for' comes to Matt's mind. Maybe he should have specified that he wanted the Avengers to be pestered _outside_ of the Kitchen?

Regardless, Matt takes the opportunity to focus his world on fire onto Clint, searching for a soft buzzing sound that would indicate hearing aids. Finding nothing but the archer's heart beat, Matt sighs quietly to himself, guessing that Clint still hasn't gotten a new pair just yet. Upon Matt sighing, Clint's lips move seemingly in response, and he's probably mouthing whatever he says, because it's so quiet that even Matt could barely make it out: "would be easier if we didn't have to talk."

Huh... then how would they communicate? Matt's brain supplements that sign language is a thing, and Daredevil suddenly wonders why he hasn't thought of trying to learn it before. Sure, Matt's blind, but there must be ways for blind people to learn how to sign. Right?

Regardless, that's something for Matt to figure out later. For now, Daredevil tilts his head towards Hawkeye, speaking quietly: "You here for the dog smugglers by any chance?"

Clint had still been peering over the side of the roof, so when he turns his head back towards Matt, he only catches the last few words spoken, "...Yeah?"

"You learnt anything new about them? The smugglers?" Matt asks, adding the clarification of who he's talking about just in case that's the part Clint missed before.

It seems to help, as the archer's eyes widen a little in realisation, before he shrugs, "Not really. I think I might've seen one of their higher ups a few days ago, though?"

"Oh really?"

"Yeah. Some guy in this yellow and blue metal suit thing. Oh, and his hands-" Clint holds ups his left arm vertically, then uses his right to draw a large circle around the wrist area, "-had like, round saws on 'em or somethin'. Couldn't really make it out all too easily."

Huh... that seems like a pretty odd description. It's probably a super-villain akin to someone like Stilt-Man, though: one that has an almost comical appearance. From what Matt remembers of the colour yellow (the blinding warm light of the sun from his childhood) he can't help but think that it's a rather weird choice of suit colour. Surely you don't want to be sticking out like a sore thumb whilst you're trying to commit crimes, right?

_Footsteps. The flames of his world on fire twirl and prance, warning of an approaching group._

Matt tilts his head towards the noise, once again putting his finger to his lips, before pointing quickly towards the direction of the footsteps. Matt lowers his hand the second after his world on fire detects Clint's head turn in the direction that he gestured, the archer's eyes squinting as he stares towards the gap between two of the scattered cargo crates below. Matt crouches a little further into the shadows before beginning to focus his flames on the approaching heart beats, hoping to gain some information by learning just who has arrived.

Two of the heart beats are a little familiar - it's a couple of the Russian's, carrying two small wooden crates each. Following behind them are three heartbeats Matt doesn't recognise. He's pretty sure it's two ladies and a man, though, the girl's carrying a large wooden crate together, whilst the man carries yet another small crate. Following behind them... wait. Is that really who Matt thinks it is?

The clunks and screeches of metal echo throughout the dockyard with each of his footsteps. His stature is initially the same as the crate-carriers in front of him, but with a quiet mechanical whirr he shoots upwards, legs extending as he now stands with his head at the same height as the top of the cargo crates. His heart beat is a little faint, masked by the cage that is a chunky metal suit.

_Stilt-Man? Seriously?_

Said very tall man speaks, his voice gruff and yet pitchy, kind of like a Saturday morning cartoon villain: "Is this seriously all of the stock you were able to ship over?"

One of the women carrying the large wooden crate responds, Matt recognising her accent as Spanish, "For now, si. More is coming."

Stilt-Man makes an irritated tut, shaking his head which is encased by a metallic helmet, "Well, it needs to come faster! The show's happening after Christmas whether we like it or not!"

He looms over the Spanish woman who spoke to him, the poor lady almost dropping the side of the box she carries out of a spike of fear. Something in the box moves around when she does so, _whimpering..._ She speaks again, voice more timid this time: "We know, but we- moving our whole business over to America is going to take time-"

"We don't have time!" snaps Stilt-Man with a dark glare. One of his arms extends, grabbing onto the large crate and yanking it out of the two women's hands. He hauls it up beside himself as the whimpering from within the crate becomes louder, his shadow almost entirely covering the trembling Spanish lady (her friend backing away with her hands raised and an equally intimidated expression upon her face); "Your stock shouldn't need this much time and care! Just get them over here - I don't care how you do it, but unless you gibbering idiots do something to improve your work speed soon," a sinister smirk forms upon his lips, "I think I may need to have a little word with the boss."

Matt had intended to keep listening, but his focus is shifting, his world on fire swirling around that large crate where the whimpering comes from. He concentrates, and suddenly all of the crates light up with heartbeats, small and terrified...

More dogs. More scared, caged dogs.

There's a tap on his shoulder, and Matt almost jolts in shock. He tilts his head to his right, hearing Clint whisper in his awkward mumble to him: "What are they saying?"

Ah... the Russian's, Spanish and Stilt-Man are a little ways away. Makes sense Clint can't read their lips all too easily. So Matt quietly fills him in on what little details he's picked up; Clint just politely listens for most of them, curiosity sparked judging by the way he tilts his head ever so slightly. But upon mention of the dogs in the crates... Hawkeye's heartbeat spikes, and his eyes narrow darkly.

Without a word, he reaches behind his back, pulling out an arrow after shrugging off his bow. "What are you-?" Matt had begun to frantically whisper, but nothing he could say could stop that silent rage coming from the archer. The arrow is cocked, aimed, and shot before Daredevil can even finish his sentence.

With a hearty _smack,_ a bola arrow slams into Stilt-Man's face, the wires wrapping themselves around said face. The villain shrinks as he lets out a muffled cry, dropping the crate (which yelps upon impact with the floor) as his hands scramble to remove the bola. The Russian's and Spanish frantically snap their heads towards the direction that the arrow was shot from, but not before Clint manages to fire a second arrow. This one flies into the centre of the group before exploding into a cloud of smoke, smothering the area between the cargo crates with a thick grey mist. Coughing and panicked sounds echo from the smoke, Hawkeye taking the opportunity to scan the ground below him, before rolling off of the rooftop.

Any sane person would have panicked, but Matt knows that Clint's gonna be fine - he'd aimed for the dumpster after all, the soft thump of his body landing amongst the garbage bags sounding from down below. Seems like the archer wants to get this over and done with as soon as possible, huh? That doesn't seem like Clint, who's usually the type to patiently assess things before barrelling in... but maybe Daredevil and Hawkeye have swapped personalities for the night? Regardless, Matt follows in the archer's footsteps, easily diving into the dumpster below, before rolling out and rushing towards the smoke, picking up on how Clint has already stepped inside the mist, arrow in hand.

Judging by a man's yelp and the zap of electricity that follows, Matt can guess what arrow Clint just used. Is that the plan, then? To knock these guys out quickly? Sounds like the kind of plan Daredevil can get behind.

Finding enemies amongst smoke is really easy when you can hear their soaring heartbeats clear as day - Matt opts to go for the two Russian grunts, considering that they're the two furthest from Clint. One of them has put down his crate and pulled out a knife, pointing it wildly towards the smoke as if that will somehow improve his defences. Sizing up the cargo crate behind him, Matt uses his momentum from running over here to leap towards it, temporarily dashing along the wall, before pushing off of it and swinging his leg round, smacking the Russian in the back of the neck. He lets out a garbled cry, gasping for breath from whip lash, only to receive a hearty punch in the face from Daredevil, which sends him stumbling head first into the metal of the cargo crate behind him. Safe to say that that's one Russian taken care of.

The second announces his presence in the form of a wild gunshot, which rather impressively almost manages to hit Matt despite the mist. A simple back flip allows the Devil to dodge though, the blind man then proceeding to rush towards the armed Russian, kicking the gun from his hand. A few punches and startled yelps later, and the Russian is on the floor, his whimpering crate dropped beside him.

The smoke begins to dissipate - still present, but much more light now. Matt takes the opportunity to check in on Clint, registering that the archer is stood amongst two unconscious bodies, wiping with the back of his hand at a wound on his face; "Aww, cheek, no..."

Matt smirks a little. Even when he's mad, some parts of Clint just never change-

_Something slams into the earth beside Matt._

Matt registers a second object flying towards him just a little too late. A metal hand collides with his face, before latching onto the front of Matt's suit and hauling him upwards. By the time the blind man's head stops spinning, he's been brought up to eye-level with a smirking Stilt-Man, bola having finally been untangled and hurled to the floor.

"Ah-ha! Got yah!" Stilt-Man proclaims, "And what a pathetic team up this is! Hawkeye and Daredevil? Don't make me laug-" his words are cut off as an arrow collides with the centre of his extended arm that clings onto Matt. Said arrow proceeds to explode, and Matt finds himself tumbling down, down, down-

He doesn't hit the ground. Instead, he's lying on top of someone. Temporarily, Matt thinks that Clint caught him, but instead, he sits up and finds the archer stood beside him, wide eyes staring down at Matt as his arms remain awkwardly stretched outwards towards him. Clint's arms immediately slam down to his sides, embarrassment causing his heartbeat to flare as Matt's world on fire tunes into the person he landed on, realising that it was one of the unconscious Russian's who unknowingly softened his blow.

Huh... talk about good luck. Matt smirks up towards Hawkeye, "Don't you always say that you 'never miss'?"

Clint pouts. An enraged cry and the whirring of metal snaps the two vigilantes out of their little pause, Matt rolling backwards whilst Clint merely stumbles back as a metal arm slams into the earth between them, narrowing missing the unconscious Russian. Stilt-Man grumbles something blasphemous, before beginning to hurl blow after blow towards the two men.

The fight goes on like this for a little while, Daredevil and Hawkeye mostly dodging the metal arms and legs sent their way, countering the attacks with either an arrow shot from Hawkeye, or an attempt at kicking out Stilt-Man's legs from Daredevil. Only problem with kicking at metal? It doesn't exactly give too easily, does it?

Thankfully, Matt has faced Stilt-Man enough times by now to know what to do instead.

Leaping over a metal arm that had launched itself at him, Daredevil dodges and weaves his way over to Hawkeye, grabbing Clint and hauling him behind the cargo crate to their right to shield themselves. He takes this valuable bit of time to tap Clint on the shoulder until the archer looks his way: "Do you have a... I don't know, a rope arrow?"

"A what now?" Clint's eyes squint at Matt's lips.

"A rope-" The Devil's words are cut off by the creak of complaining metal, before suddenly the cargo crate is hauled into the air, Stilt-Man laughing maniacally as he dangles it over his head. Matt, knowing they have merely seconds, grabs Clint's jaw (which had turned towards the cargo with wide eyes) and forces the archer to look his way, "Rope. Arrow. For his legs."

The archer lights up with realisation, "Ohhh, like Star Wa-"

The cargo crate goes soaring towards them, and Matt pushes Clint into a run. The blind man feels a brush of wind against the back of his head that indicates just how narrowly they avoided being crushed, the horrendous crash of the cargo crate colliding with the floor and tumbling across the dockyard deafening to his heightened senses.

There's no time for Matt to recover from the overload of sound. Stilt-Man is relentless, throwing his metal arms out towards Matt and Clint once again, the two leaping in different directions to dodge them. This time, though, Matt purposefully calls out to Stilt-Man, wanting to grab his attention: "Is that all you've got?"

A man as narcissistic as Stilt-Man only needs a simple jab to get riled up. Matt bolts off to his left, sprinting away from Hawkeye as metal arms continuously slam into the ground behind him, getting closer and closer with each attempted hit. One of them manages to clip his ankle, Daredevil tripping and sprawling to the ground, a pleased cackle coming from Stilt-Man as a metal arm flies towards the downed vigilante... only for the villain's laugh to be replaced by a scream, his arm grinding to a stop.

Matt's mind floods with confusion as he quickly returns to his feet. His world on fire tries to focus in on Stilt-Man, wanting to know why the man's hands are scrambling at his face, but instead it picks up on a "Catch!" that's yelled by Clint. Seconds later, an arrow zooms towards Matt, Daredevil hastily sticking out an arm and managing to grab the tail end of said arrow just in time.

His hands briefly run along the arrow, locating the attached cable on it's end. Well, that's certainly better than a plain old rope. Matt's world on fire picks up on Clint's movements, registering the way that Hawkeye ties his end of the cable arrow around a second arrow, before letting the two of them fly. They zip into the side of the second cargo crate, the tip of the unknown arrow exploding and then sticking to the metal surface, keeping the cable arrow trapped in place beside it, the cable itself wrapped in front of Stilt-Man's legs thanks to where Matt's stood as he holds the other end. Understanding what he needs to do to complete this plan, Matt dashes to his side of the cargo crate, waiting patiently beside it as he makes a 'come here' gesture towards Hawkeye, followed by a thumbs up. Listening to the sound of an arrow piercing the wind, Matt throws the cable towards the cargo, the flying arrow splatting itself and the cable against the cargo crate upon impact. Perfect... now there's only one thing left to do.

Daredevil and Hawkeye step back, listening and watching respectively as Stilt-Man's screams turn into pissed off growls, the pained man taking a step forward to continue attacking... only to yell in surprise as he instead falls face-first to the dockyard below. The moment he hits the ground, four more arrows fly, that same putty holding down the cable arrows now pinning Stilt-Man's legs and arms to the floor.

Having gone from Stilt-Man to 'Floor-Man', the villain grumbles yet another blasphemous word, before lying still in defeat.

Hawkeye and Daredevil move forward, meeting each other beside the fallen villain. Matt takes the opportunity to focus his senses upon the villain's face, the flames of his world on fire flickering over it. Mostly, he detects Stilt-Man's metal helmet, but Matt can't help but pause as he picks up on something more... distressing.

_Burn marks?_

"What arrow did you...?" Daredevil asks, tilting his head towards Clint as he does so.

Hawkeye had already been glancing his way, seemingly knowing that this question was going to be asked. He shuffles on his feet, his voice a sheepish mumble, "Acid arrow... I was going for another bola, but um... oops?"

"Oops?!" sarcastically grumbles Stilt-Man from the ground. Matt can't help but silently sympathise with him, somehow.

"...Maybe you should label your arrows." Is all he says in response to Clint. The archer opens his mouth as if he wants to retort back, but his lips suddenly tremble, before falling shut again.

Matt decides to not question it. Right now, with Stilt-Man restrained, it's high time to start getting some questions out of him about this whole dog smuggling business. Stepping towards Stilt-Man, Daredevil looms over him, staring down at his burnt face as the villain tries to tilt it to stare back up at him as he speaks: "...You wanna tell me about this 'show' you're bringing these dogs over for?"

Stilt-Man's lips go from a grumpy frown to tight and nervous, "...Wh-What show?"

A swift kick to the face has Stilt-Man talking again: "Alright, alright! Jesus... It's just a dog fight. The Spanish wanted to move their business over to the States, so my boss gave them a way in - as long as they promised everyone involved with setting them up would get money out of it, of course. Simple stuff, really."

His mask hides it, but Matt's brow has narrowed into a frown, "Who's your boss?"

"Just some guy who wants to show up New York's top dogs." Stilt-Man shrugs best he can with the way he's been restrained, "Personally, my money's still on Fisk though-"

"Give me a name." Matt insists.

"What, and get a bullet in my head?" Stilt-Man retorts, "No thanks."

Matt kicks him in the face again - twice this time, "I said: give me a name."

Stilt-Man spits at the ground, blood and a tooth coming out. He laughs, small and rather pathetic, "You owe me a dentist bill."

Sighing, Daredevil pulls his leg back for another kick, before suddenly the ping of an arrow flying punctures the air. With a familiar _'zzt, zzt, zzt'_ of electricity, Stilt-Man lies out cold with an arrow on the side of his helmet.

Matt's frown turns upon Hawkeye, "Hey-!"

"Relax, Devil-man." Clint cuts him off, "That was all the info yah were gonna get out of him."

"You don't know that." Matt insists.

In response, all he gets is a tired sigh. Clint begins to move away, calling over his shoulder as he does so, "Didn't yah say there were dogs in these crates?"

Oh... the dogs!

Moving after Hawkeye, the two vigilantes begin to gather up the crates (which had all thankfully been mostly avoided throughout the fighting, only occasionally being knocked into or stepped over). With all four of them brought together, they use a similar technique to last time to pry them open - taking Clint's standard arrows and using them as a wedge against the wooden lids.

Inside the three little crates are similar types of dogs. They're small, but clearly not puppies judging by their size. Two of them have triangular floppy ears with short fur along their sides, but longer fur around their squat muzzles, almost like they have some sort of moustache, beard, or both. The third small dog seems almost hairless, with large (for it's tiny size) ears that stand up to attention and a skinny, slim tail. The two floppy eared dogs immediately leap out of their crates once the tops are removed, spinning around with happy yaps, proceeding to sniff and play with each other once they're both free. The almost hairless dog, meanwhile, remains sat in it's crate, blinking in confusion with it's beady eyes at the sudden appearance of new humans.

That just leaves one more dog... Matt and Clint open the large crate together, allowing a medium sized canine to eagerly leap out. It's square muzzle and squashed, broad face tilts up to them, it's wrinkles shifting as it's jaw drops open into a pant. This dog also has floppy ears, and it's coat is smooth and short. Matt anxiously removes his right glove and extends his palm towards it, the canine crouching a little as it edges towards Daredevil, timidly sniffing his palm... before showering the hand of it's saviour with slobbery licks.

Clint laughs from where he's stood, the two playful small dogs cradled beneath his arms. They're still trying to play with each other, apparently annoyed at being picked up, Clint trying his best to keep a grip on them as they wiggle. The archer speaks whilst Matt (with a small disgusted wrinkle to his nose) wipes off his saliva-coated hand on his trousers; "Guess you should take the big boy then. I've got the Terriers - if you, um, if yah wouldn't mind grabbin' the Boxer and the Chihuahua... and then um... helpin' me..."

Daredevil quirks an eyebrow, "You want me to take them to that rescue you've got set up?"

Clint's eyes widen, "Oh..." He grins, and it's almost shy, "Yah know 'bout that?"

"Saw it in the papers." Matt lies. Well, half lies - he didn't _see_ it, no, but he heard it through the grape line called Foggy Nelson and Karen Page, "I'm... still not sure why you set it up here instead of in Brooklyn, but sure. I'll take the dogs."

"Thanks, Devil-man!" Clint chirps in response.

Pausing for a moment, Matt tries to give Clint an opportunity to pick up on his mention of Brooklyn, to maybe even say something about it. But all he gets in response is a spiked heartbeat and a slightly forced smile... Never mind. Guess Matt will remain clueless for now then.

The archer's head drifts towards the still unconscious Stilt-Man, before he gently lowers the Terriers back to the ground (much to their delight, the two of them pouncing at each other and beginning to play again). Clint scratches at the back of his neck, tilting his head back towards Daredevil, "I'm gonna... I'm gonna stay here and call the cops. Wait 'til they show up and get Stilty, then I'll catch yah up. Is that okay?"

It's more than okay, considering that the cops really don't like Daredevil right now after the whole fiasco with the Russian's and the bomb. Matt even smiles a little just to show Clint that he's thankful that the archer took that into consideration: "Works for me."

Clint nods, grinning back. His gaze follows Matt as the Devil goes over to the crate that the Chihuahua is still sat within, gently scooping the startled pooch into his arms. At first, it seems that the small dog wants to resist, a hesitant growl coming from it... but it quickly falls silent, opting to instead allow itself to be cradled with care - especially when Matt runs a tender hand across it, trying to calm it with a pet.

Behind him, the flames of his world on fire pick up on the way that Clint opens his mouth like he wants to say something, before quickly closing it again. Matt glances over his shoulder, tilting his head towards Clint to mimic a curious expression, the archer stuttering when he realises he's been caught, "I-I just... just wondered... We make a good team, yah know? And I don't know 'bout you, but I ain't gonna be lettin' these guys get away with runnin' a dog fighting show in Hell's Kitchen."

Kicking at a stone next to his foot (it landing near the Boxer, said dog proceeding to pounce on it, lying down and pushing it between it's paws) Clint finishes his stumbled thought, "So maybe - if you wanted to - we could, yah know, forget 'bout all our past stuff... and team up? Just 'til this dog business is solved, then yah can go back to doin', um, 'lone wolf Devil-man' stuff."

_Oh no._

Teaming up with an Avenger? Absolutely not, says the Daredevil part of his brain - it's way too risky, and besides, he and Hawkeye have fought in the past. What's to stop them from fighting each other again?

But the Matt part of his brain? The part of him that's accidentally befriended Clint Barton for his messy, kindhearted, moronic self? The part of him that's currently focusing in on the way that Clint's lips have curled into an anxious, almost shy smile?

Why does the archer put Matt through this internal conflict every time he's around him?

"...Just until we've stopped the smugglers?" he queries.

Clint's eyes widen, and his lips shift into an excited grin, "Just 'til then."

Matt sighs, but it comes out a lot more soft and endearing than he intended it too, "Then I guess... it wouldn't hurt to team up for a little while."

Grinning enthusiastically, Hawkeye throws his hand up in the air, "Alriiight!"

Daredevil had expected him to say more, but when he just pauses, Matt suddenly remembers that high fives are a thing. He lifts his hand that isn't cradling the Chihuahua up a little bit to try and perform said action, but does so too late - Clint has already assumed that he's been rejected, dropping his hand behind his neck in a smooth-ish motion.

"Soooo..." the archer makes a finger gun gesture with his unused hand, "Guess I'll make the call...?"

"...Yeah." Matt nods awkwardly, "Y-You do that."

The two part ways, Clint remaining with the bouncy Terriers and the unconscious criminal, whilst Matt carries the Chihuahua out into the night, managing to coax the Boxer into following them by letting it snag one of his gloves to chew on when Matt had tried to pet it again. The Devil had moved with the dogs through alley ways, choosing the safest route possible to the alley behind Hawks and Paws. Arriving there, it was only a matter of waiting, Clint taking about thirty minutes or so to show up in the form of opening the front door for Matt (Hawks and Paws' only entrance). The two of them had worked together to get the dogs into kennels, Matt trying to take his glove back from the Boxer, but giving up after it's tail droops and it lets out a pleading whine.

With the dogs all securely inside in their respective kennels (Matt noting that a couple of the Staffie puppies from before were still in Hawks and Paws too) Daredevil bids the archer goodnight, disappearing back into the shadows of Hell's Kitchen that he calls home.

Well, they're not his true home. The warmth of the sun starts to peak over the horizon as Matt pushes open the rooftop door of his apartment, gladly stepping inside and listening to the wonderful sound of paws tapping across a wooden floor. Matt's barely taken off his helmet and now lonely glove when there's a muzzle being shoved into his face, a tongue soon following despite the blind man's protests.

"Deuce, abajo!" Matt commands through laughter. Of course, the German Shepard doesn't listen to the instruction to get 'down'. Why would it when it can act cute and convince Matt to give it it's breakfast early?

Speaking of being early... after shucking off his vigilante suit and replacing it with his normal civilian suit, Matt reaches for his phone upon his bedside table. Turning it on, he clicks at the top of the screen as Foggy had taught him to do, allowing the device to read out the current time in it's usual robotic female voice: "Two thirty a.m."

Well... three hours sleep it is, then. Placing his phone back upon the table, Matt shrugs off his suit jacket and tie and climbs onto his bed, curling onto his side and trying to drift asleep. In a shirt and formal trousers? Yep. Why bother to get entirely undressed when you've only got three hours to sleep as it is?

The bed shifts as a new weight steps onto it, and Matt groans. He knows he should tell Deuce off - should make the dog go to sleep on his own bed. But again, with only three hours to sleep... Matt can't help but just give in. Besides, it's comforting to feel a weight curled up against his back like this - to listen to a steady heartbeat instead of the roar of the city.

When Matt arrives late at work that day, Foggy and Karen mostly let him off, opting to just tease him instead of scolding him. The bed hair and bags under his eyes (which are really just bruises in disguise) tell them all they need to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanna know what Matt was saying to Deuce at the beginning? If so, " https://lingojam.com/AlienLanguage " is the link to the translator. Just copy and paste the weird symbols, and ta-da! You're not missing out on much though, so don't feel that you have to do this if you don't want to.
> 
> Only one final note: Quacks, Hawks and Paws is part of a series called "Marvel-lous dogs" (ha, puns). The first story in that series ("A Pizza Man and His Pizza Dog") can be considered a prequel to Quacks, Hawks and Paws. Why? Well... you'll find out one day. I just wanted to point out it's existence for future reference. ;D


	9. I Heard The Bells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Tis the season. But 'tis not the way Matt would have expected it's celebration to go...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I know, a Christmas fic in the middle of July. I am the king of timing. XD
> 
> Don't worry tho, this is only a little Christmas-y.

"So... if I'm understanding this correctly," Claire's voice is even and calm as always, "Stilt-Man and what's left of the Russian's are helping a Spanish gang smuggle dogs into Hell's Kitchen, just so they can set up a dog fighting business. And there's a mysterious employer behind all of this that neither you or Hawkeye know anything about?"

Matt - somewhat slumped on his couch with his injured right arm held out into the air in front of him - merely gives her a drowsy sounding: "Mm-hmm."

The nurse pauses her stitching of Matt's injures to sigh, chuckling a little as she does so, "Somehow, that's the most ridiculous story you've ever told me. I believe you, of course... but only because you're you."

It was a quiet winter day in Hell's Kitchen, but it's night life had been akin to a snow storm. Daredevil had gone searching for more clues about the whole dog smuggling situation, only to receive a stab in the arm from this Russian man that he'd been trying to intimidate. Thankfully, that's the only real injury he'd received tonight, but the wound had gone deep enough that Matt needed a second opinion on it. Hence, Claire's back in Matt's apartment, and she's still not impressed with Deuce. After all, the canine has decided to make a game out of stealing Claire's medical equipment the very second that she decides that she needs to use that particular piece.

Right now though, the 'nuisance' (as Claire nicknames the German Shepard) has taken to simply watching her curiously from it's perch on the couch beside it's owner, head tilting from side to side as Claire continues to patch Matt up. The two humans had began to chat idly, exchanging stories from their past week, catching up like old friends reunited. As if there's nothing weird at all about the fact that one of them is bleeding over his couch whilst the other examines and cleans his wounds... it's just become routine for them, like two strangers who cross paths on the way to work every day.

Amidst the small silence that had settled after Claire's statement, Matt yawns into the back of his uninjured hand, rubbing said hand against one of his eyes afterwards (he doesn't bother to wear his Daredevil mask around Claire anymore). The nurse glances upwards from where she's knelt upon the floor beside Matt's injury, before her eyes squint as if she's focusing upon something.

"...Hey, Matt? When's the last time you slept?"

"Um..." Matt pauses for what he intended to be a short amount of time. But when you're working on only three hours of sleep from last night - not to mention hardly any hours at all from the nights before that - it's no wonder that your brain gets foggy and starts to slow down. The cogs of his brain don't quite turn right, can't formulate an answer to Claire's question quick enough to think of a lie, and she immediately calls the blind man out on it, her voice calm yet assertive.

"You know, it's going to be hard for you to save those dogs if you don't take care of yourself."

"I know..." Matt grumbles, cutting off a second yawn (or rather, trying to), "I know."

Claire smirks, "Are you sure about that?"

Matt lets out a puff of slightly irritated air. Deuce tilts it's head, tail swaying curiously, observing the way that it's owner struggles to come up with a good excuse to fire back with... before instead, Matt sits up a little bit as a spark of realisation lights up within his mind; "Oh... wait here a second."

"Matt-" Claire moves to stop the blind man, but it's too late - he's up and moving, injured arm remaining stiffly at his side as he heads off towards his bedroom. Claire sighs; guess it's time for more stitching once he's back, then. The upside to that is that she gets to spend more time with her friend - the downside is that she was just about to finish with the stitches, and will now most likely have to re-do a lot of them if sleepy Matt isn't careful.

Speaking of the blind man, he re-enters the room holding something unexpected within his left hand. It's a potted plant with long and relatively straight leaves that extend vertically from it's centre, tiny spikes lining the edges of said leaves as Matt returns to his seat upon the couch as if nothing had happened. "Here." He simply says, extending the plant towards Claire.

"...What?" her voice is nothing but confusion.

"Merry early Christmas." Matt explains with a small smile, "I was told at the store that it's an aloe vera? You mentioned that you had house plants, so... I thought you might like it?"

Claire remains silent and still for a brief moment, blinking toward the plant in utter surprise, before gently removing it from the blind man's hand, "Matt... you didn't have to."

"Equally, you don't have to patch me up all the time," Matt shrugs (though regrets it a little due to the pain that shoots down into his injured arm), "It's the least I can do to say thank you."

The nurse can't help but warmly smile in response to that. She carefully places the plant atop the coffee table beside her, positioning it within it's centre to try and keep it out of Deuce's reach (should the intrigued canine decide to shift off of the couch and investigate the plant) speaking as she does so, "You're really sweet sometimes, you know that? I don't have a gift to give back to you... but I'm definitely getting you something for Christmas now."

"You don't have to-" Matt begins to insist, but Claire cuts him off:

"Nope. You're not going to give me a gift without getting something in return." she says, a hint of playfulness within her tone. She would continue with said playfulness, but the dog in the room beats her to it; Deuce apparently hasn't received attention in what it deems to be too long, because there's suddenly puffs of air being blown against the side of her face, before a wet tongue collides with Claire's cheek. She recoils immediately in disgust, but can't get away too far due to where she's sat upon the floor beside the couch. Normally, Matt would step in to help - give his dog commands in Spanish that it would immediately obey like the good boy that it can be. But sleepy Matt would rather laugh at Claire's slobbery shower, meaning that the most the nurse can do is lightly push Deuce away and stand up, wiping her face with the back of her jumper's sleeve rather frantically. The German Shepard (now sat up upon the couch and aiming it's muzzle up towards Claire) allows it's mouth to hang open in a dopey grin as it's tail wags contently.

"Maybe I should gift you a muzzle..." Claire mumbles.

"You love him really." Matt ever so slightly slurs, his voice starting to get plagued by sleep once again.

The nurse picks up on it immediately of course; "Lavender tea might be better. Or chamomile. Sleeping pills, perhaps?"

Matt waves his hand in some dismissive gesture, aiming it in completely the wrong direction away from his healing friend, but not really caring that he did so, "I'm fine, Claire."

"Maybe. But you'll be better once you've slept for longer than five minutes," Claire retorts, before her eyes squint like they did earlier as she mumbles an additional, "Or five seconds, judging by the bags under your eyes."

"Thanks." the blind man grumbles sarcastically, before sighing, "Look, there's... I'll be sleeping tomorrow afternoon, okay? I'm leaving work early so I can rest up before midnight mass."

"That's good. But sleeping now would also help prevent you from passing out during mass." the nurse crosses her arms, stubborn. Insistent. Absolutely in the right here, and she knows it.

The Devil wants to argue, but knows it's a losing battle. He sighs again, weary and... yeah, worn out. No wonder. "Fine. I'll try."

Claire's smile returns. She steps back towards Matt (after her gaze scans Deuce and notes how the dog's attention has shifted to the window behind the couch) and crouches beside him on the floor. She then extends one of her hands outwards, holding it palm-up within the air in front of the vigilante expectantly, "Now... if you could just sit here and look pretty for a little while, I can get these stitches over and done with."

Matt's lips curl into a sleepy smirk, his injured arm dragging itself upwards and into Claire's awaiting hand, "That doesn't sound too hard."

The nurse lets out a quiet laugh at that, a subtle tut accompanying it, before reaching to her left for a needle.

[🦆]

Matt's starting to worry that Clint isn't planning on showing up tonight at all...

Yesterday (Christmas Eve) had been a fairly standard work day, par Foggy announcing that Matt and Karen were invited to his 'Christmas party at Josie's'. This wasn't unexpected - Matt and Foggy had gone out for drinks every Christmas night for the past few years. It was their way of giving each other a gift, simply because they refused to give each other real Christmas presents. They had given each other one too many prank gifts over the years (such as light-up socks and ties for Matt, and a candle that fades from a nice smell to a nasty one for Foggy) so had instead agreed that it would be better for themselves and everyone else if they just stuck to having fun at Josie's. As for Karen, she had been pleasantly surprised by the suggestion, and definitely on board with it.

Foggy had spewed his usual lines: "And if you wanna bring a plus one, you totally can. Just let us know first."

"Are you going to invite Marci this year?" Matt had asked, mostly for a tease.

"Mayyybe." Foggy had responded, before smirking and firing right back at his friend, "Why? Are you gonna invite that sugar mummy of yours?"

Of course, Matt had once again tried to deny this stupid joke of Foggy's, but Karen was on his side this time. Both of them had teased the blind man for a laugh, deciding to debate about what this sugar mummy could be like - brunette, blonde, smart, playful; what kind of rich girl is Matt into? It had resulted in Daredevil blushing as he did before during this topic and eventually blurting out something that he knew he would regret later: "Alright, alright! If you really want to meet... 'her', then I'll invite her."

Hawkeye had at first thought Matt was joking when he entered Hawks and Paws asking about Josie's in an incredibly sheepish tone. Though, when Clint realised Matt was serious, the archer agreed to come with such a sweet smile that the lawyer's anxieties eased. Temporarily, at least.

Unlike Clint, when Matt tried to explain to Foggy and Karen that his 'sugar mummy' was actually just a friendly Avenger, his best friends couldn't stop laughing. Eventually, Matt gave up, deciding that the two of them could find out the truth for themselves on the night... that is, of course, if Clint actually shows up.

It's eight p.m. Foggy, Karen and Matt are sat in a row at the bar, already having brought a bottle of alcohol to share between themselves. The TV is currently hosting a Christmas episode of some celebrity quiz show, there's quiet chatter amongst those who are at the bar tonight (who are mostly the usual suspects at Josie's) and save from the wonky Christmas lights that Foggy informed Matt were strung up above the bar's entrance, it was almost like any normal night. Especially normal for the three co-workers, since apparently neither of the 'plus one's' had shown up.

"Still heard nothing from Marci?" Karen asks Foggy as he quickly checks his phone.

"Nope." Foggy pops the 'p', before shrugging and pocketing his device, "But hey, who needs her. I've already got my wing-man and a pretty girl right here."

Karen can't help but laugh at that, playfully nudging Foggy away from her with her elbow. Matt similarly chuckles, though the sound indicates that his mind is elsewhere.

"How about you?" Foggy taps Matt on the side of his arm to get his attention, "No sign of Miss Sugar? Or Miss Avenger, I guess."

The blind man sighs. He opens his mouth to dismiss Foggy's tease, but judging by the way that Karen freezes up and Foggy's jaw drops wide open, Matt doesn't need to say anything. Instead, his lips form into a not-so-subtle smirk as he tilts his head over his shoulder and towards the familiar heartbeat that just stumbled into Josie's; "Clint?"

There he is, Mr Avenger, wearing his usual over-sized coat and some hat upon his head. It's not one of his beanies - Matt's world on fire can sense that it's shape is slack and slumps a little when Clint moves his head. The moment his flames flicker around the puffy ball bouncing on the tip of the hat's end, Matt knows that Clint's wearing a Santa hat. His smirk only widens in response - especially when he registers a small click from Foggy's jaw as the lawyer slams his mouth shut, trying to be polite whilst his heartbeat spikes. Karen's, too, is racing like crazy, the pair of them a rather chaotic mixture of confusion and excitement.

God, it's at times like this that Matt wishes he could more easily see the looks on their faces.

"Sorry I'm late," Clint mumbles, making his way over to the trio once he spots them, "I closed up a 'lil late, and there was also this really cute dog on the way here, and yah know, I couldn't just walk past it, and... um..."

The archer's words had trailed off as he pauses, now stood beside Matt and blinking towards Foggy and Karen, who are still staring at him in absolute shock. His lips slip into an awkward grin, one of his hands sliding upwards to scratch at the back of his neck, "Is the... is the hat too much...?"

Karen manages to snap out of the haze of surprise first, immediately smiling just as awkwardly as Clint, "Sorry... sorry, it's not the hat at all, it's just. Well. When your friend tells you that an... an _Avenger _is the person who saved your company, it's... kind of hard to believe him."

"Kind of hard?!" Foggy rapidly mumbles beneath his breath, voice cracking as he does so. That has Matt laughing, trying to cover it up with one of his hands as he does so, almost like a naughty school kid sharing a secret with his friends.

Clint's head tilts between the three co-workers for a moment, before he too smirks, chuckling a little, "That's, um, that's fair enough, to be honest..."

"...Okay..." Foggy begins, voice ever so slightly higher than usual, but slowly returning to normal, "Okay, okay, okay... Clint. Can I call you Clint?"

"Um... yeah?"

"Okay, cool. Clint, Matt? Sorry to immediately start the night like this, but... I think I'm going to actually burst into flames if I don't get an explanation for... you know..." Foggy gestures briskly between Matt and Clint as if that will somehow help him, "This."

Matt turns around on his stool (with his back to the bar) before talking to Foggy again, trying to angle his head so that Clint can still read his lips from his right whilst Matt talks to Foggy on his left. Regardless of whether he succeeds at this though, Matt can't help but grin mischievously at the chance to finally be in control of this joke: "What? Isn't he my sugar mummy?"

The archer's eyes widen, before he bursts out laughing, remembering his conversation about this with Matt at the park. Foggy's own eyes widen then, his lips pressing together tightly with embarrassment. He glances over his shoulder for back up from Karen, but she too is laughing away, nudging the not-blind lawyer playfully, "He got you there, Fog."

"Aww, darling," Clint's tone is full of playful sarcasm (or at least something sappy) as he casually drapes an arm over Matt's shoulder with a sly grin, "You told your friends about us?"

Matt... really didn't expect that kind of joke to come from Clint. It throws him through a loop, and has his head snapping up in Clint's general direction, mouth opening and closing as a slight flush comes over his face.

_Darling?_ Why is that word making Matt's heart spike? It's just a joke, after all - doesn't even sound like something Clint would normally say.

"I..." Matt tries to think of a smooth response, but all he can come up with is: "...Yes?"

He gets a smirk and a chuckle from the archer in response. The arm on his shoulder is removed, Clint mumbling something to himself that Matt probably wasn't supposed to hear, "Darling... Noted."

_...What?_

"Seriously though," Karen speaks up this time (since Foggy is too busy running his finger around the rim of his glass to cool off his embarrassment from earlier), "How did you guys meet? Because having some reasoning behind the money, coffee and dog treats would be nice."

"Oh." Clint's body jolts a little, as if lighting up from realisation, "Yeah... 'bout that..."

And thus began a long explanation about how two playful pups resulted in a blind man and a deaf man becoming unlikely friends. The story definitely took longer than necessary, as at a couple of points Matt and Clint had to fill in their own side of a certain part, or Karen and Foggy would cut in with a question that took a little bit of explanation. At the end of the day, only one part of the story was changed: Clint's reasoning behind why he gifted Nelson and Murdock so much money.

When asking Clint to come to Josie's with him, Matt had explained that he'd lied to Foggy and Karen about the whole fight with the Russian's outside Hawks and Paws. He'd then lied to Clint, saying that his reasoning behind his twisting of the truth was that he didn't want to worry his friends, and that he didn't want to put them in danger should the Russian's find out who the man behind the scarf is. To be fair to Matt, most of his lies to Clint weren't far from the truth - they just dodged around the elephant in the room (or rather, the Devil in the room). Clint seemed to have agreed with and understood the blind man's reasoning, assuring him that he would play along and work with Matt's web of deceit. Instead of feeling like a graceful spider, though, Daredevil feels as if he's just tangling himself tighter and tighter amongst the mess of webbing and falsehoods...

Regardless, at the end of the day, he got what he wanted out of it. Clint whipped up some story about how Matt was an amazing volunteer at Hawks and Paws, and when he heard about Nelson and Murdock's financial situation, he felt that he couldn't just sit there and do nothing with his 'Avengers funds'. At which point, the sugar mummy jokes had been brought up again... and playfulness and alcohol resulted in the long story of Clint and Matt's recent history being abandoned. Instead, laughter was passed around between each of the four party-goers, along with a couple of memorable moments.

Karen had explained that she'd brought Christmas gifts for Matt and Foggy in the form of whisky and wine, but she'd left them back at the office for tomorrow, as it had seemed pointless to her to bring alcohol to a place that already served the stuff. Clint had quipped in with a tease to Matt - that he would buy the blind man a gift, but he's pretty sure that he would get 'bitch slapped super duper hard' if he spends any more money on Matt this month. Later, the deaf man had brought up and questioned the fabled 'wounded handsome duck' nickname that Matt had told him about, which had Foggy in stitches just thinking about college. College somehow reminded Foggy of pool... which is how four mostly drunk folks are pairing up to play pool against each other.

"Alriiight!" Foggy had blurted out with an arm playfully wrapped around Matt's shoulders, "Nelson and Murdock versus Page and Barton! Let's kick their ass, Matt!"

In reality, however, Foggy and Matt were the ones getting their arses handed to them. It's almost like playing against Hawkeye in a game about aiming your shots as perfectly as possible puts you at a disadvantage. Go figure.

Matt and Foggy are doing pretty well despite that disadvantage. They're only a couple of balls behind Karen and Clint, and by the third game, they're slowly closing in on that gap. That's mostly thanks to a now very much drunk Karen, who ends up missing most of her shots. After missing three in a row, Clint steps in to help her, getting close to her and assisting in lining up her arm as she aims, even leaning down to take the shot with her. When she sinks in the ball, the archer tilts his head to the side and whispers something into Karen's ear that Matt's drunken world on fire can't detect. However, his flames do spin around Karen's face when he catches a brief blush across her already reddened cheeks, along with a subtle smirk etched into the archer's lips.

Did Clint just flirt with Karen? It sure seems like Clint just flirted with Matt's friend. Matt... isn't sure how to feel about that. But judging by the skip of the blind man's heartbeat and the way he lets out an involuntary huff to himself...

_Is he... jealous?_

Jealous of Clint for flirting with Karen? No... no, that's not right. Matt doesn't love Karen; platonically, yes, definitely. But he doesn't see her as more than that. So that leaves only one other real possibility...

_Is he jealous of Karen for flirting with-_

Matt has another swig of whisky before his mind can finish that sentence. That results in the rest of the night becoming a hazy blur, Matt's memory starting up again when the night's drawing to a close. He's walking down the street holding onto someone's arm - Clint's judging by the muscles, because no way did Foggy suddenly get semi-buff. Speaking of Foggy, he and Karen are walking away down a different street together, waving over their shoulders at the blind man and the deaf man.

"Have fun you two!" Foggy calls teasingly.

"Don't stay up too late!" Karen declares despite it already being past midnight.

Clint waves them off whilst Matt calls his own goodbyes, before the archer suddenly spins the pair of them to the left. "Good thing I've walked yah home before, huh?" Clint teases, "Couldn't imagine that you'd be givin' me very good directions right now."

Home... oh, yeah, they're going home, aren't they? They're making their way down the streets of Hell's Kitchen amongst the black veil of night, Clint seemingly more sober than Matt is, though the blind man is catching up slowly with each passing second.

"Yo? Earth to Matt?"

Correction: catching up _very_ slowly. Matt lifts up his head towards the sound of Clint's voice, "Huh?"

The archer chuckles at that, all squiffy smiles and bliss, "I just asked yah which block was yours."

"Oh..." Matt mumbles with a little hiccup. The stuttering sparks of his world on fire trip and stumble over themselves as they make out the hazy shapes of the apartment buildings to the left of him. Once the vigilante recalls which one is his own, he opens his mouth to tell Clint, but the Devil within him suddenly slaps a reminder into his mind.

Oh yeah. Matt's not meant to tell Hawkeye where Daredevil lives, is he?

"I can walk from here;" he insists, "I'm not too drunk so I'll- I'll be okay."

Judging by the way Matt just stumbled over his words and is currently essentially clinging to Clint's arm, the deaf man has all the right to call him out on his lie. But instead, Clint merely giggles, before offering a little shrug, "Sure. It ain't too far so... knock yourself out. Or um, don't- d-don't do that, please."

It's Matt's turn to laugh at that, the archer joining him as he does so, the two of them starting to step apart as the sounds they're making slowly die down. Thinking that would be the end of their conversation, Matt turns to leave with cane in hand, only for Clint to swiftly step to the side of him to get his attention.

"Oh, Matt, I forgot!" Clint nearly shouts, probably by mistake due to his haste. His voice slips back to his usual murmur rather quickly though, his gaze darting shyly to Matt, "I just... I just wanted to say um, thank you. For invitin' me out with you and your friends. They're really super nice, yah know?"

A grin eases it's way into Matt's lips, "Yeah, they're great. And thank you for coming, Clint. Tonight was... really fun."

The deaf man nods enthusiastically in response to Matt's words, the blind man knowing that he does so thanks to the puffy ball on the end of Clint's Santa hat bobbing up and down with the nod.

"Yeah, it was!" Clint chuckles, but it ends up slipping from something warm into something... melancholy? A calloused hand raises to rub at the back of his neck, Matt quirking an eyebrow curiously as Clint speaks up again, "I thought... yah know, I really thought I'd be spending this Christmas alone. But instead, I got to spend more time with you. So just... thank you, man."

Huh... why would an Avenger be alone on Christmas? It just seems weird to Matt that someone who's been in so many superhero teams could possibly have no-one to spend the holidays with. He's about to voice his confusion, but instead, arms are all of a sudden gently pulling him in, and Clint Barton is giving him a hug.

Sober Matt would probably freeze up dramatically - maybe even push Clint away from shock. But drunk Matt can't help but notice how warm the deaf man is, how nice and comfy that over-sized coat is against Matt's body. How Clint's hands initially try to hold on loosely to the back of the blind man's jacket, but end up gripping on tightly, messy hair falling against Matt's shoulder all too easily.

Sober Matt - Daredevil maybe, even - wants to slip away and bury his face in his hands to hide. Drunk Matt doesn't care - he grins softly and wraps his arms around Clint, leaning into the embrace. Clint's about five inches taller than Matt, so if anything, this is just an excuse to keep his face warm. The winter chill of Hell's Kitchen can't reach him whilst he's got the lower half of his face snuggled into Clint's shoulder, masking his tipsy smile.

So the two vigilantes continue to hug, forgetting temporarily about the rest of the world around them. That can wait until later - for now, they'll stay warm in each others arms. Happy, content and peaceful, for once in their chaotic lives. Christmas presents may not have been officially exchanged between Matt and Clint, but it sure as hell felt like they'd just given each other one.

Clint tips his face into the corner of Matt's neck, and the blind man giggles softly. His breath tickles.

[🦆🏹]

_Car horns._

_Howling wind._

_Faint thumping of footsteps._

_A busker strumming broken strings._

_A siren wailing from a fire truck - no, police._

_Flickering street lights._

_Screeching cats._

_Scuttling rats._

Matt could make an endless list of reasons why he can't for the life of him stay asleep. He doesn't know what Godforsaken hour it is, but he's definitely sober now. He's thrown up a couple of times, before slumping back to bed and practically collapsing into it, hardly registering the way that Deuce has curled up atop his blankets beside him.

Everything's just so loud! Maybe Matt should have taken up Claire's offer with those sleeping pills - maybe they would dull down his brain, drown out the flames and the noise. Hell, Matt's even willing to try herbal tea by this point, even if he believes herbal remedies are just placebo effects in disguise. There's just gotta be something that works, right?

Normally, that something would be Deuce, but his canine is also restless tonight. It seems distressed by the way that Matt has been sick so often in one night, resulting in it's heart racing each time Matt shifts, soft whines even slipping from it's muzzle at times. The blind man has spent a third of his time trying to sleep, a third of it throwing up, and another third of it comforting his German Shepard. Overall: everything bad, no good news, and absolutely no chance of sleeping.

A hand slaps against his phone, Matt groggily going through the motions to get it to read out the time to him. The robotic female voice responds coldly: "Four fifty nine a.m."

Great... So much for sleeping, then.

However, one positive does come out of this. Matt knows that sunrise is at seven fifteen during the winter months (he made sure to research this for vigilante reasons) so that gives him something to do with his time instead of failing at sleeping.

Is Matt really going to fight bad guys whilst hung over and heavily sleep deprived? Yep. They don't call him Daredevil for nothing - equally, Claire doesn't call him an idiot for nothing.

After giving Deuce some much deserved love and attention in the form of plenty of pets and cuddles, Matt suits up, making sure to bring his grappling hook and batons before exiting via the fire escape. He heads directly to his usual perch these days - a building that allows him to lurk above the dockyard in shadows, meaning that he can quietly observe any dog smugglers that come through here without them spotting him all too easily.

When he arrives, the dockyards are barren and empty, save from the usual cargo crates that are lined up neatly at this spot. Matt doesn't think anything of this at first, since it usually takes a while for the Spanish or Russian's to show up. So he crouches amongst the shade and waits, yawning a couple of times, stifling it by throwing his arm over his mouth.

His attention lapses easily, mind adrift and mostly in a tired haze. He can already hear Claire insisting that he gets back to bed before he gets hurts, but he brushes these thoughts aside. Matt's fine. He's gone out fighting in worse conditions than this. He'll be okay.

A seagull drifts through the rolling clouds, and Matt's head tips from side to side, his world on fire tracking it just to have something to do. However, his drowsy brain focuses it's flames so heavily upon this bird, that by the time he registers the flicker of a heartbeat behind him, it's too late.

Something grasps onto his shoulder, before Matt is thrown backwards onto the roof, crashing into it's concrete harshly. His enhanced senses snap to attention, fire sprawling across the body that towers over him: a man who Daredevil has only crossed a couple of times before. The taste of metal tangles the air, the whizz of something deadly spinning on the back of the wrists of the man with a metallic mask covering the entirety of his face, save for two tiny rectangular holes for his eyes.

The stranger growls: "You put Stilt-Man away, huh? Think you can just get away with dat? Now you mess with the Gladiator!"

Maybe Matt should have stayed home after all...


	10. Romans 13:4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's almost like crime-fighting whilst hung-over isn't such a good idea, huh Matt?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a playlist of songs I listen to that I relate to Quacks, Hawks and Paws. I thought I'd share them with all of you, because why not? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wj0y5GbCA0I&list=PLmR1pqJyXfEpbgPXKY3lG_cNk6GXy4KOS&index=11&t=0s - I hope you guys enjoy it! Make sure to check the playlist's description, because it will tell you which songs are about which characters.
> 
> (Yes, I added that as an edit on the end of the last chapter. I'm putting it here again 'coz I have a feeling most people would've missed it due to how late I added it. Sorry.)

Hindsight is a powerful thing. Unfortunately for Matt, he can't see anything.

Instead, he's stuck fighting against a man much taller than he is with strong metal armour across his chest and circular saws on the backs of his hands. Matt reckons he could ordinarily take this man on rather easily - Gladiator's punches are little sloppy, them being rushed, thoughtless and all over the place at times. But this isn't an ordinary situation, as Matt has many disadvantages: being hungover, feeling rather exhausted, and now he's also starting to get a headache on top of all of that.

However, perhaps God is on Matt's side for once. Despite these disadvantages (and a few hits to the head) Daredevil is standing his ground fairly well, dodging and weaving most of Gladiator's attacks, treating the rooftop like some boxing ring that he can manoeuvre around with ease. Gladiator swings at him, saw blade whizzing away, and Matt dodges the attack by dropping down and spinning one of his legs out. It slams into Gladiator's left leg, throwing off the man's balance, and with a swift few punches from Matt, Gladiator is sent crashing backwards to the rooftop floor. He lands with a thud, but the vibrations that Matt senses from said fall cut short not too far above the armoured man's head. It takes Matt a second or two to realise that this means that Gladiator fell near the edge of the roof.

Huh... last time Matt was here, there was a dumpster beside this building. Maybe he can get Gladiator to fall into-

His thoughts are cut short by two things. The first is Gladiator himself, who is starting to push his way back to his feet, grumbling to himself like an enraged animal. The second is a little... odd: why are Matt's ears starting to ring? His hangover isn't exactly great, but his current headache shouldn't be this bad, right?

Matt doesn't have time to question it further. Gladiator is charging at him with some sort of battle cry, Matt having to duck down to dodge a punch and it's circular saw as they're thrown towards his head. He retaliates with an upper cut just below Gladiator's helmet to his jaw, using his remaining momentum to drive a knee into the taller man's side, sending his opponent stumbling backwards just a little. But it's enough - any gap is enough right now, as long as those saws stay away from him, and-

Worse... the ringing is getting worse... the pain in Matt's head is too. Sheesh, he's not _this_ hungover-

A searing pain rips through Matt's raised right arm as one of the circular blades goes slashing past it, leaving a nasty gash of blood behind. Focus, Murdock! Gladiator's smirk blazes amongst his world on fire, though the flames seem more subdued than usual, which is rather worrying considering that this subdued nature is also spreading to Gladiator's punches. With each dodge and weave and each further attack thrown his way, it only seems that the flames are shrinking smaller and smaller, becoming harder and harder to track, and why is that ringing so Goddamn loud-

A fist slams into the side of Matt's head, causing his world on fire to temporarily snuff out. It almost immediately tries to spark back to life, but by then Matt has stumbled into a wall that is a tall electricity box, his back being harshly slammed into it by a cruel shove.

Last time Matt's world on fire acted up like this, it had ended with him crashing to his living room floor. Then, Deuce had been there to comfort him, but now? Now, it's just Matt and a man who's delighted smirk at his pain is one of the few things his dying embers can sense.

Daredevil cries out as a circular blade is slashed down across his stomach, and the only reason it doesn't sink deeper is because his frantic hands dig into Gladiator's forearm for dear life, pushing away from himself with all of their might. He meets resistance of course, his opponent pushing back, the armoured man determined to saw through Matt's stomach, teeth gritting in irritation at the blind man's defiance. Matt continues to cry out on occasion - kind of hard not to when a spinning saw occasionally snags into a wounded part of your skin. But his cries are muffled and distorted to his ears, like the air is a thick haze of water that he's drowning within, or more accurately, it's just borderline impossible to hear anything over the thunderous ringing in his head. Even the deafening whirl of the circular blade struggles to fight against the ringing, and it's only getting worse.

Matt's flames have shrunk to just sparks, that haunting void from the last time he lost his enhanced senses starting to creep back in. However, those sparks are able to pick up on an irritated curl to Gladiator's lips, before a hand grasps onto Matt's throat, claw-like fingers digging in hard enough to bruise as Matt has to tilt his head to his right to prevent the blade upon this hand from cutting through his helmet and to the back of his head.

Gladiator must snarl something - his voice is too distorted for Matt to know what - before suddenly Daredevil is hurled by his throat across the rooftop. He rolls along the concrete a couple of times from the sheer brute force of the throw, further disorientating him, Matt mutely coughing and spluttering when he finally comes to a stop as he tries to re-gain his breath. But at least he has some indication of where he's ended up landing: his right arm is dangling far down to his side from his sprawled position, a rather strong gust of wind pushing it back against the side of the rooftop.

The edge. He's at the edge. And if he could just roll off and get lucky, that dumpster-

A foot stomps onto his chest before he can get such an opportunity. Matt's barely functioning world on fire comes in and out of focus, trying to register Gladiator's form as he towers above him, but it can't. So Matt tries to centre in on the most important parts: the saws that are splattered with the stench of blood. This means that Gladiator has become some formless creature amongst the shadows - nothing but two hands that promise pain, which now slowly sink towards him, blades eagerly spinning. Pinned as he is, all Matt can do is raise his arms defensively and pray.

His prayer is answered in the form of a sudden explosion, loud enough to be registered despite the ringing in his ears. This blast slams into Gladiator, the leg that had been pinning Daredevil in place gone, but where it went to, Matt has no idea. Why? The explosion has snuffed out his world on fire, and this time, no sparks come back.

So here Daredevil lies, dangling half on half off of the rooftop, bruises around his neck. He's bleeding from his arms, some scrapes across his body in general from when the saws have nicked him, but mostly from the vertical gash across his stomach. His stomach... it's wound is deeper than Matt thought. Not life threateningly deep, but enough that he wouldn't be surprised if he ends up passing out from shock and blood loss some time soon. Which, considering that a very hostile saw-man could still be nearby (and Matt is currently blind _and _deaf) is a rather terrifying thought right now.

So much for being 'the man without fear'.

With strained effort, Matt manages to manoeuvre himself onto his left hand side, no longer hanging off of the rooftop's edge. He pauses then, trying to consider his options with his panic-ridden and pained mind, knowing that he needs to do... something. And he needs to do it fast.

Escape route? Dumpster below. But where is that dumpster? Matt has no way of knowing - considering his current luck, he has a higher chance of falling to his death than falling into somewhat cushioning garbage. Though, he did just get some good luck... where did that explosion come from? Is it someone trying to help him? Or... is it someone else who's come to hurt him?

Daredevil has more enemies than friends. It would make much more sense to be the latter. In that case, that means there's two hostiles out there in the void of Matt's world... oh heavenly father, help a man out here by giving him a way out of this mess.

God is apparently too busy for such a trivial thing; a hand darts out from amongst the shadows, landing atop his right shoulder from where he's still lying on the floor. Matt immediately lashes out, shoving it off, scrambling to push himself upwards. A hand touches his shoulder again, and Matt jolts and grabs it this time, trying to twist the person's wrist. But his movements are slower than usual due to fatigue, his attacker easily grabbing Matt's own wrist, doing the same to his second hand when Daredevil tries to throw a rather meek punch.

Shit... His hands have been pinned together by their wrists in front of him, his attacker holding them with one hand so he can use his second for... something. Matt expects a punch, preparing to lash out with a kick in response. Instead, there's a finger being pushed into the back of his right hand, drawing lines into it.

...Huh? The lines are repeated over and over again, forming the same pattern, though it takes Matt at least eight attempts to make sense of it. His brain is really starting to slow now, the loss of blood getting to him, even as the pattern comes together in his mind: two straight vertical lines that are parallel to each other, and a horizontal line that connects them. Is that... a weird 'N'? A ladder maybe? Or... it could be the letter 'H'? Hell, why is his attacker tracing anything into his skin?

Regardless, Matt might just never find out. He's trying to think of more answers, but instead, the void worms it's way inside his skull, strangling his thoughts until his grasp on reality starts to slip. The tracing sensation begins to fade out, as does the feeling of his wrists being held, and the last thing Matt feels is himself slumping forward into something warm before suddenly, he's unconscious. The void has won.

Hindsight... such a powerful thing...

[🦆]

First time he wakes up, he's greeted by an intense sting of pain. His world on fire is part way back in action, swirling around his own body, reminding him that, oh yeah, he nearly got his stomach ripped into by a round spinning saw. Matt groans, trying to get his flames to flesh out the rest of the world around him through his murky agony, picking up on a couple of details. He's on a couch, that's for sure, slightly uncomfortable and with a waft of coffee coming from a fairly old stain to the left of his head. There's bandages wrapped around the injuries on his arms and a couple of plasters stuck here and there to once-bleeding scratches upon his body. Matt can detect sturdy hands currently stitching away at the wound in his stomach, though they pause, the owner of said hands speaking to the blind man. What they say, Matt isn't sure - his hearing is still a little muffled, only able to make out the rough outlines of the words:

"...still, man... stay..."

Matt falls unconscious again before he can piece it all together.

He comes to a second time much later on. He can sense a soft heat shining down upon his body in orderly rectangles, implying sunlight filtered through vertical blinds. His world on fire is back now, flames still slow, but certainly there. They twist around the room, trying to paint an overall picture, allowing Matt to quite quickly figure out that he's in some sort of dingy apartment. The kitchen (far opposite where Matt lies) has hardly been used, save for the dog bowls on the floor, the pot full of cold coffee and the waft of leftover pizza from the fridge. There's a wonky TV strapped onto the wall just to the right of Matt and the couch, the TV pulled out from the wall seemingly in an attempt to angle it so that those sat on the couch can view it easier. There's a bookshelf behind the TV and two open doors either side of Matt on the wall behind him, probably leading off to a bathroom and a bedroom or something. After all, there isn't a bed in this room - just the kitchen, the items described, and a coffee table atop a rug on the floor just in front of Matt (aka the centre of the room).

Though, this coffee table isn't empty. There's someone on the floor slumped partly on top of it, arms crossed and their head resting on them, eyes drooped as they seem to be beginning to snooze. There's also a floppy-eared, medium-sized dog curled up on the floor beside this person, semi-snuggled into their side, dozing quietly.

All Matt needs to do is hear a flicker of the man's heartbeat, and he immediately stiffens in response, hissing at how that makes sparks of pain shoot from his injuries.

Clint? Is this his apartment? Well... that would explain where the explosion on the rooftop came from. Good shot, Hawkeye. What that doesn't explain though is why Clint was on the rooftop in the first place. Isn't he hungover too from the Nelson and Murdock Christmas party? Sure, Matt's enough of a 'daredevil' (ha) to go crime fighting whilst hungover, but surely an Avenger like Clint-

_Wait... If Clint healed him... Oh God, has he seen Matt's face?_

The blind man's hands immediately fly upwards, tapping at his head, sighing with relief once he confirms that yes - he is definitely still wearing his Daredevil mask. But... but what if Clint has taken it off before now? What if Daredevil's secret identity has been compromised? What if... what if he knows that Matt Murdock is much more than he's pretended to be to his friend?

Matt needs to leave - to get out of here now, just in case, before it's too late.

He sits up too fast due to stress, letting out a soft cry as he does so (thanks stomach injury). Unfortunately for Matt, this grunt of pain wasn't as quiet as he'd hoped - Hawkeye's head lifts itself upwards a little, before the man suddenly snaps bolt upright, scrambling to his feet (stumbling over a still fast asleep Lucky as he goes).

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" he exclaims, rushing to Matt's side, "Not so fast. You gotta - yah gotta stay down for at least a little longer, okay? Lie still and all that."

Considering that Matt's already sat up, he opts to ignore Clint, shaking his head as he cradles his stomach ever so slightly: "I'm fine."

"Sure, yeah, and my hair isn't blonde;" the archer sarcastically snaps back, crossing his arms sternly, "Look, man, I know you're constantly runnin' 'round while injured, but I seriously thought yah were gonna bleed out a couple of times last night. So just... humour me? Please?"

In any other circumstances, Matt would've remained defiant, wanting to stay sat up so he could flee as soon as possible. But there's this... tone to Clint's voice. This underlying anxiety mixed with genuine distress, a need for Daredevil to stay so that Clint knows for certain that he'll be okay. The blind man can't help but want to fulfil that for Clint... but he can't stay if his identity has been exposed. And there's only one way to confirm or deny that:

"Did you see my face?"

Clint falls quiet, eyebrows wrinkling in confusion, "...What?"

"I said, did you see my face?" Matt repeats, all serious and tense, deepened Daredevil voice in full swing (despite the fact that hearing aid-less Clint can't hear it).

"...Ohhh." The puzzle pieces fall into place in the archer's mind, before the flames of Matt's world on fire shift left and right beside Clint's head, "Nope. Not at all. Your mask didn't come off on the roof, and I haven't touched it whilst you've been here."

The blind man focuses in on the deaf man's heartbeat, patiently reading it, waiting for a quick spike that indicates a lie... but nothing of the sort happens. It remains as calm as a slightly panicked heart can be; in other words, Clint's telling the truth, and Daredevil's identity is safe.

Matt sighs in relief, visibly relaxing as his shoulders droop, which Clint picks up on immediately: "You, um... you good now? Could yah lie down, please?"

With a small nod, Matt begins to lie back down, going slowly this time to prevent himself from pulling any stitches. As soon as he's once again on his back with his head on the coffee stained pillow, it's Clint's turn to sigh in relief, the archer stepping backwards just to use his coffee table as a perch to sit on. Soft snoring can be heard throughout the room, it's source being the blissful Labrador, his owner glancing over his shoulder just to smile a little bit at the pooch (perhaps for some form of comfort). Matt, meanwhile, can't help but race through a bunch of questions within his mind, curious about the archer's choice.

"...Why?" He ends up voicing said interest once Clint's glancing back in his direction, "You could've taken off my mask at any point... Why didn't you?"

Initially, the archer doesn't say anything, rubbing thoughtfully at the back of his neck... before shrugging and explaining simply: "If I'm honest, I don't really care who yah are under your suit right now. But I figure, if I'm ever gonna find out, it should be you who makes that decision to show me, not me. Yah know?"

That's... rather comforting to hear, actually. It certainly removes quite a bit of Matt's anxieties around Hawkeye possibly finding out his identity. If Clint wants to respect Daredevil's decision to keep himself private, then that should make things much easier when it comes to him hiding his secret identity.

Well... that's assuming Matt can keep up with the balancing act of being Clint's canine-loving friend by day and Hawkeye's partner in crime-fighting by night.

Daredevil allows himself to smile a little, "Thank you for that, Hawkeye."

The archer's eyes widen, a cheeky smirk curling into his lips, "Whoaaa! He knows how to smile! I-I should record this, no-one will believe me otherwis-."

"Annnnd you ruined it." the blind vigilante says, lips back to their default straight line.

Clint pouts, "Aww, Devil-man, c'mon..."

Daredevil chuckles. Hawkeye seems genuinely honoured to witness such a sight, grinning from ear to ear. And gosh, if that isn't cute...

_Wait, cute?_

"Hey, um, sorry to bring down the mood," Clint speaks up again, "But if yah don't mind me askin'... what happened on the roof back there? I just came along on patrol - maybe to even say a late merry Christmas -" the archer adds a sloppy, half-hearted wink along with his words, "but first thing I see when I arrive is you (um, no offence) gettin' yah arse handed to yah by Glod-ee-ate-tair."

Matt... should probably teach Clint how to pronounce 'Gladiator' properly at some point, but right now his mind is focused upon a much more difficult task: explaining the whole rooftop situation without revealing that he's blind. He did end up attempting to attack Clint after all - if he'd just lost his hearing, he would have had no reason to do that if he could physically see that it was Clint approaching him. He pauses for what's probably far too long, sensing the way one of Clint's eyebrows quirks upwards in concern... before Matt finally speaks up, voice a little quieter than usual as he tries to explain in a slightly nervous, maybe embarrassed tone. Hopefully shame is a good enough excuse for the long pause before his explanation, instead of the reality that he was thinking of a way to lie...

"Everything was going fine at first. I was just fighting Gladiator after he sneaked up on me, but... he hit me in the head a few times. My... my senses are enhanced. I have heightened hearing, heightened smell... heightened sight... But I had a head injury recently. Gladiator hit me in the head enough times that my hearing started to go, and with it my other senses started fading too. Your explosive arrow just hit the nail on the coffin, really. My hearing went... and everything else just went with it, I guess."

Clint's mouth forms a perfect 'O' shape of realisation, the archer taking in what Matt has suggested. When Clint closes his mouth and nibbles at his lips, the blind man worries that he's going to call him out on his lies, but instead... the deaf man asks something Matt hadn't expected: "So, you... panicked? Like, 'coz your hearin' went it was like yah couldn't use anythin' else anymore?"

Well... that certainly works as a good explanation. So Matt nods, "Yeah... I just... couldn't make anything out."

"Right. That, um, that explains why you were kinda unresponsive." Clint mumbles. There's this look on his face that Matt's world on fire picks up - this expression of sympathy and understanding towards the blind man, like Clint knows the feelings that he just described all too well.

Daredevil no longer knows whether he feels so good about getting away with his lie to Hawkeye.

"Well..." the archer speaks up again, "Do you... do yah know any breathin' techniques? Like, for calmin' yah down and stuff? Oh, or um... there is actually a calmin' thing that focuses on usin' your senses. Maybe you could use it to help yah get them back if yah feel like they've gone?"

Matt doesn't think that would realistically work for him, since he does just straight up lose his hearing and 'sight' (his world on fire being his own form of sight) instead of simply struggling to focus upon them. But hey, there's never anything wrong with learning something new, right? And who knows, Matt might need it at some point in his life; "I don't think I've heard of that one."

"Ah, well..." Hawkeye shifts a little on the coffee table, calloused hands fiddling with each other in his lap just to have something to do, "It goes like this... You start with sight. Gotta name five things you can see. So like, um..." Clint's head tilts around the room, "Lucky, you, beer pile... cold coffee, damn... a-and, um, my couch."

Clint offers an awkward smile towards Matt, who offers a comforting nod back, which encourages the archer to continue talking, "Next up issss... touch. Four things this time. So... my hands, my trousers," Clint slaps his hand down upon the wood below him - "coffee table," - before bending to his left to reach down and gently stroke Lucky's head: "Lucky again."

The Labrador (now awake) lazily pokes his head up, gazing up at his owner as the deaf man turns back to look at Matt, "Then it's three things you can hear... I um, I normally skip this step. But yah know, you'd be able to do it, so..."

Just to show that he is following along with what Clint's saying, Matt decides to help him out: "I can hear the hum of your fridge, a car alarm outside and Lucky's tail hitting the floor when he wags it."

The archer's eyes widen in surprise, before he grins again, the tension that had been building up within his shoulders during his explanation relaxing immensely, "Cool... cool, that's cool, you're gettin' it. In that case, um... smell's up next. Two smelly things, like coffee and, um..." Clint awkwardly tugs at his shirt near his neck, tilting his head to the side to sniff at it, before wrinkling his nose, mumbling: "and me forgettin' to shower again..."

A forced laugh stumbles past Hawkeye's lips, a slight blush dusting the deaf man's cheeks from embarrassment, quickly continuing to speak before Matt can properly react, "L-Last one is taste. So, beer for me... yay..."

The archer shrugs, scratching at the back of his neck, "Welp... ta-daaa? That, um... that sound like it might help?"

Well... as Matt thought before, it probably won't help him when it comes to the actual loss of his senses. But as a calming technique in general? It actually seems like a pretty good idea to keep stored away for future use. So he nods again up towards Clint from where he's still lying on his couch, "Yes, thank you. Though... it may be difficult to go through my senses in the middle of a fight."

"Ah, yeah," Clint chuckles awkwardly, "That's gonna be a bit of a problem..."

The rest of that morning is pretty calm all things considered. It just consists of Matt lying upon Clint's couch, awkwardly pretending to watch the TV when Clint turns it on to 'entertain him while he rests' (in the archer's words) despite the fact that Clint is the main person watching it out of the two of them. Matt's preoccupied himself with stroking Lucky, who has shifted to lie sprawled in front of the couch, allowing Matt to rub lazy circles into his soft fur.

As the afternoon begins to approach, Clint lets out a large yawn, stretching his arms outwards and upwards until his shoulders pop just a little. He props his left arm at ninety degrees on the coffee table and rests his head atop his hand, probably just intending to sit like that for a little bit... but instead, his body caves and slumps forward, the archer finally falling asleep for good instead of just dropping off every now and then due to the boring TV shows. Matt lies still, quietly listening to Clint's heartbeat, assuring himself that the archer truly is asleep... before slowly beginning to sit up.

He feels that he's overstayed his welcome - that he should have been gone long ago. He's thankful for the hospitality... but it really is time for Daredevil to leave. Slowly easing himself to his feet, Matt sighs, the pain from his stomach an ever present dull ache. It's nothing that he can't deal with though - he'll be able to move through the alleyways to his home and his own dog in no time, he thinks.

Speaking of dogs, though... Matt bends down to give Lucky one last thankful pat, scratching the Labrador behind the ears because he knows that Deuce likes that (receiving a lazy lick to his palm in response). His head then tilts towards Clint, registering the way that the deaf man seems to snore louder than his canine does... and Matt gets a sudden urge to do something. Clint's spent all of last night helping Daredevil out - the least the blind man can do is somewhat return the favour.

Before he can begin to hesitate, he moves at a reasonable pace (considering his injury) through the open door to the room that he can sense Clint's bed is in, gently pulling the duvet off of the man's bed. Matt briefly wonders if this duvet is as purple as everything else Clint seems to own (the man does live mostly in his own merch after all) but in the end, it doesn't really matter. The only reason Matt got it is to drape it around Clint's shoulders, essentially leaving the archer in a make-shift cocoon. Asleep as he is, the deaf man seems to snuggle into this cocoon with a sleepy smile, causing Matt to subconsciously grin in response.

_Thank you for saving my life tonight... Seems like we've been saving each other a lot lately, huh?_

And with that silent thought, the Devil slips out of the deaf man's apartment window, exiting via his fire escape. He slinks back into the shadows that he usually roams, using his world on fire to figure out his rough location in comparison to his own home. Turns out, Clint's apartment is just above Hawks and Paws, meaning that Matt knows his way home from here all too easily.

Perhaps he should make himself a cocoon when he gets home... maybe then he'd sleep as well as Clint seems to. Though, Matt doubts that any other human being would be capable of sleeping as well as Clint Barton judging by the man's snoring alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna have to add a 'whump with comfort' tag now, aren't I? Oops. Just you wait 'til next chapter. (Though, I can assure you there will be no nasty circular saws next time).
> 
> Oh, by the way! This version of Gladiator is based on his comics outings. I know Melvin is in the MCU (and he's such a sweet boi) but I didn't want Matt to have a history with him. Sorry for any Melvin fans.


	11. Barton Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt - as much as he had initially tried to avoid it - has ended up making a friend out of Clint. It's time for him to learn why others have tried and failed to do the same.
> 
> (This is like that "five times a character did this, and one time they did that" thing. Potential trigger warning for this chapter specifically: it mentions the death of a dog. Not a main character death, but still worth warning for I feel, just in case.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who's read the previous chapters before the 16/August/2020: I edited some things in chapters 1-10 to do with Matt and his blindness. As a certain Kayla Harris pointed out (thanks for the feedback!) in my last edit, I still left spots in early chapters where I accidentally write Matt as if he were a seeing-person. So I've gone back and re-phrased some parts to try and portray Matt's blindness and world on fire more accurately.
> 
> (For those who don't want to read back: in all of the edited chapters, I made it so that when it's from Matt's POV, instead of describing where characters eyes are looking, I simply describe where their gaze/head is turned towards. I also tried my best to not describe colour so often, and edited some descriptions of items/people/dogs/etc so that it fits more accurately to how a blind person would perceive them. Finally, in chapter 2 I added that Matt knew Foggy was smiling because he could sense a dopamine spike (there's a comic issue where Matt is able to sense cancer within someone, so I don't think it's too far of a stretch to say that he can probably sense dopamine levels too) so that there's now an explanation as to how Matt can sense people's smiles written into the story.)
> 
> Sorry, I know I said the previous edits would be the last ones, but considering how big of an edit I just did, this should (fingers crossed) actually be the last one. Don't worry though - if I do end up making any more edits, I will always make sure to leave a starting note explaining where I've made them. Now that's out of the way, on with the story!

It's a peaceful winters day at the park in Hell's Kitchen. Snow has fallen, but it's much lighter than usual, making it easier to manoeuvre around than it normally would be during these months. Within a tree to Matt's right, there's a couple of birds politely chirping away, before the barks of Lucky and Deuce take over said noise. The blind man sighs; in front of the park bench he and Clint are sat on, Deuce and Lucky (currently free from their leashes) are chasing each other around in circles, dashing and bounding all over the place. If the two dogs aren't careful, they'll go plummeting into the lake just behind them, disturbing the mama duck and her now teenage ducklings that are creating ripples across the water, minding their own business as they splash along.

Tilting his head to his left, Matt's world on fire focuses back on the man beside him. Clint is currently sipping on a Starbucks, watching the dogs with this small little grin on his face. The two humans have been sat here for a short while now, just taking a moment to drink their coffees (yes, Matt has one too) before they'll inevitably head back to their work places. They'd crossed paths whilst walking their dogs during their lunch breaks, and there was no way Deuce and Lucky were going to leave each other alone until they'd gotten to play together some more. At least, that's the excuse the archer had given on Lucky's behalf - Matt had simply rolled with it, on Deuce's behalf of course.

One trip to Starbucks later, and here the Avenger and the secret vigilante are, chatting casually upon a park bench. They'd just been having a conversation about the Nelson and Murdock Christmas party from a few days ago, reminding each other of a few of their drunken antics (the ones they could remember at least) Clint suddenly laughing after his Starbucks sip as he turns towards Matt and speaks up again:

"Oh- oh- do yah remember Foggy and Karen tryin' to turn pool into a drinkin' game?" Clint manages to get out mid-laugh, "Thank God I was sober enough to get 'em to stop, huh?"

"I... don't really remember much about pool, honestly." Matt admits with an awkward smile, "I remember the beginning of it, but the next thing I remember after that was you walking me home."

Clint's laughter dies down then, slipping into something a little more embarrassed, "Ohhh... really?"

The deaf man's cheeks heat up just a little as the blind man nods. Kind of hard for Matt to forget such a warm hug amongst the bitter cold... though, he also remembers Clint's little confession about what his Christmas would have been like, and can't help but be filled with curiosity. Matt makes sure to use a polite and calming tone of voice (despite knowing that Clint can't hear it): "If you don't mind me asking... you said that you thought you would be alone at Christmas. Why?"

The archer's heart spikes just a little, and whatever blush he was starting to get very quickly fades as he almost seems to partly shrink in on himself. Hastily, Matt adds: "You don't have to tell me if you don't want t-"

"No, no," Clint cuts him off, "It's... it's nothin' big anyway."

Shrugging, Hawkeye continues, one of his calloused hands running over the texture of his Starbucks cup as he talks, "Basically, I got fired from the Avengers early this year. May or may not have broke into a sex joint and started a fight 'coz a pretty lady asked real nicely and, yah know, the Russian's were there too. Two buds, one stone - or whatever the phrase is. Regardless, I got booted out and disowned by the Avengers, my brother's God knows where, and I don't really got no other living family... unless yah count my ex's and my daughter who hates my guts."

Clint shrugs again, quickly having another swig from his coffee cup. Matt, meanwhile, has to pause for a moment to take that all in. He's not really sure how to respond to it, but he certainly has a lot of questions. Though, as much as he hates to admit it, he also can't help but feel a little relieved about the Avengers part - Hawkeye being an ex-Avenger means that Daredevil probably won't have to tread his ground so carefully around him anymore. As for that fight in the sex club... is this the reason Clint owes the Russian's who attacked Hawks and Paws money? Because he beat them up? And did the deaf man seriously break the law because a girl asked him too? What about his family; why is his daughter mad at him?

One thing Matt also can't help but wonder about is where all of these bad events took place. After all, there is one area of New York that Clint doesn't like to talk about. If all of this bad stuff happened to him there... it would certainly explain a few things.

In the past, Matt has dodged around asking Clint about Brooklyn, simply respecting that the archer doesn't like to talk about it. But the blind man feels that the two of them have reached a point in their friendship where they can be more open about themselves, even if just a little. So it surely can't hurt to ask... right?

"Did... did the 'incident' that got you fired happen in Brooklyn?" the blind man queries as innocently as possible, even adding justification as to his question: "It's just that whenever I've asked about Brooklyn before, you seem... upset?"

The silence that follows really unnerves Matt. He can't tell from Clint's racing heart whether the archer is mad at him or simply sad. Perhaps it's both. Perhaps Matt and Clint's friendship isn't quite strong enough to earn the blind man an answer yet.

He's about to apologise and move on the conversation, but the archer speaks up instead, quiet and a little hesitant, "Yes... but that's... that's not why I don't talk about that place..."

Another silence follows, Matt waiting patiently, thinking that maybe Clint was going to speak further on the topic. It had sounded like he was going to, anyway... Instead, the archer sighs, downing the rest of his coffee, before standing up. He calls Lucky back to himself, Matt also standing in confusion; "Clint?"

The two dogs trot back to their owners, panting and satisfied with their play, unaware that anything may be wrong. Clint, meanwhile, silently clips Lucky back on his leash, before glancing ever so slightly towards Matt, "Sorry... I'm gonna go."

Right. Matt definitely upset the deaf man then. Guilt twists within him like a knife to the chest, the blind man quickly speaking up, "I... I'm sorry Clint, I shouldn't have ask-"

"Forget it," Clint insists, waving his hand dismissively, the sound vibrations of said movement sharp and insistent. He then proceeds to slip past Matt before the lawyer can say anything else, not looking back as he marches away. The Labrador briefly casts his muzzle over his shoulder in confusion, but a few quick tugs on his leash encourage Lucky to move on - especially when Clint mumbles something about giving his dog pizza if he behaves.

Matt stays frozen for a brief moment, still surprised about how a single word seems to have such an impact upon his friend. Seriously, what happened at Brooklyn? Whatever it was, the blind man's curiosity is currently being squashed down by guilt, the metaphorical knife of it sinking further into his chest. After all of the nice things that Hawkeye's done for him, here the lawyer is, causing the archer sorrow - not to mention all of the previous lying he's done to save Daredevil's skin...

A nudge from his impatient German Shepard has Matt snapping back to reality. He quickly clips his leash to Deuce's collar, beginning to trudge back towards Nelson and Murdock, deciding that even though he's made this mistake, there's nothing he can do about it now. All he can do is move on and trust that Clint will do the same.

Hopefully today is just the low point of Clint's week and the rest of it will be business as usual...

[🦆🐕🏹]

There's a small dead dog on the alleyway floor. It lies still amongst a group of unconscious Russian and Spanish gang members, the gun shot wounds within it's little body a tale tale sign of this dog's demise. Daredevil's stood with two other dogs behind him, the shorter of the two pressed against the back of his leg, the other large dog simply cowering close to him. Said large dog had been hiding near Hawkeye, but Clint is slowly stepping forward, seemingly fixated upon the frozen body of the deceased canine.

"Hawkeye..." Matt softly says. He's also mournful about the little dog - he'd heard the click of the gun, should've dodged in a different direction - but he knows that they need to leave, rescue what dogs they can and get out of here. Clint has other ideas. The deaf man (despite his new hearing aids) ignores his fellow vigilante, crouching down beside the dog's body. Silently, he runs a gentle hand over the uninjured fur atop it's head... before he does something Matt would not have expected to hear.

Hawkeye _cries_.

It's soft, quiet - barely noticeable to normal ears. But Matt can taste the salt of Clint's tears in the air, can detect the occasional sniffle that comes from the deaf man as he moves his hand lower to close the little dog's eyes.

Daredevil immediately wants to move to his friend's side to comfort him. Unfortunately for the pair of them, someone else makes a move first.

Mocking laughter echoes off of the alleyway walls, Gladiator now back on his feet. He had been knocked down by the two vigilantes - Clint had used a couple of explosive arrows to break the villain's saws, allowing Matt to easily swoop in and deliver vengeful punches - but now Gladiator is stood once again, a sadistic smirk upon cracked lips, which his world on fire highlights like the blazing forge of Hell.

"What? You sad 'bout dat little doggie, softie?" the cruel man taunts, "She was dead meat anyways. Would've been better if she'd died in front of da audience - would've had some use then - but oh w-"

An arrow smacks into the exposed skin of Gladiator's left arm, exploding in a stench of acid. The man in armour yelps dramatically, the acid even sizzling a little as Gladiator tries to swat away at it with his metal-gloved hands. He has no time for relief, however: Clint bulldozes towards him, arrow in hand, stabbing the object into the gap behind Gladiator's mask and straight up into his jaw.

"Shut. Up." Hawkeye says, cold and menacing, yet slightly shaky due to the tears still in his eyes.

Whatever sounds Gladiator tries to make in response come out as gurgled bellows and growls. He punches Clint's shoulder in defiance, and the archer harshly cuffs him across the face in response.

Matt chooses to watch this situation unfold, ready on standby if the deaf man needs him, but assuming that Clint won't. The archer's got this dark determination about him, this need to fight and fight and fight until all the rage finally quietens down, even if just for a little while. And Matt understands that. Of course he does. He's a Murdock boy, after all - he'll always have that Devil within him, too.

He's not sure how, but one way or another, Clint's managed to get Gladiator down to the ground. However, the ex-Avenger doesn't stop there - he just sits on top of the man to pin him in place, rips off his metal mask, and keeps going to town. Relentless blows descend upon Gladiator, most of the punches striking his face, but some even beat against his chest despite it's armour. Wafts of iron streak the air, metallic scarlet flooding Matt's senses as Gladiator's blood splatters the ground around his head, the weakening man struggling to fight back, before giving up on that entirely. At some point, Matt hears a snap of some sort from the villain's nose, and since he can sense that Gladiator is quickly falling towards unconsciousness... yeah, the archer's revenge session needs to end.

"Hawkeye..." Matt speaks up, quickly stepping towards the ex-Avenger with a raised, calming hand, "Hawkeye, you can stop now."

Clint ignores him. There's a pop from Gladiator's jaw, the man falling unconscious as Matt's voice goes up a pitch out of panic, "Hey, you're going to kill him if you keep going like that!"

That seems to snap the deaf man out of it, Clint freezing mid-punch. His fist remains held up and tightly clenched for a few tense seconds... before slowly the archer uncurls it, dropping his arm downwards. He holds his palm up in front of himself and tips his head down towards them, the waft of blood spiralling from them, Matt's world on fire lighting up bruised knuckles and cut skin amongst the callouses...

Softly, Matt rests a comforting hand atop Clint's shoulder. Hawkeye shoves it away, hastily making his way to his feet and storming over to the two remaining dogs.

"I've got 'em," he grumbles, that cold edge still clinging to his voice, "You can go."

Matt doesn't like this situation, his own heartbeat starting to race along with Clint's, "Are... are you sure I should-"

"What?" the ex-Avenger snaps then, spinning around to face Daredevil as he stands beside the two dogs, "Yah got what yah wanted out of this - got to beat up some bad guys, be a hero, all that shit. So get out of here and leave me be. I'm fine."

Even without reading Clint's heartbeat, it's obvious that those last two words are a blatant lie. Matt wants to voice this - to protest and offer the deaf man help. But the archer's already retreating before he can say anything, taking the dogs with him and disappearing amongst the alleyways.

The blind man lets out a deep sigh; so much for hoping that Clint's week would get better. Matt tilts his head towards the little dead dog, his world on fire tracing around her, gently enveloping her like the warmth of a blanket. Maybe the dog could have just been asleep - maybe she could get up any second, bound after Clint and nuzzle his heels to reassure him that she's okay. That everything is going to be okay.

Alas, the dog is dead... and Matt doesn't feel that he can leave her alone now. Not after the tears and blind rage Clint expressed on her behalf. No, that little dog deserves better.

So Daredevil gently scoops the pup up into his arms, before stepping away into the darkness of the alleys of Hell's Kitchen. After all, there's a certain park that dogs often explore filled with many hidden areas amongst it's bushes and trees. All it takes is a borrowed shovel from a communal garden and a quiet, spoken prayer for a small burial amongst the night to be completed...

[🦆]

The clanging of Hawks and Paws' wonky bell temporarily rings through the air as the blind man enters the store one rainy evening. Cane in one hand and his other pushing his glasses further up his nose, Matt tries to take off his soaked coat, only for an eager Labrador to bounce up at his feet. Chuckling, he gently coaxes Lucky to keep all four paws on the floor, petting him to distract the canine. This seems to do the trick, Lucky pressing up against Matt, nuzzling his muzzle into the lawyer's empty hand so that he can feel the little puffs of the dog's curious sniffs against his skin.

Opting to keep on his coat (Matt can already hear the whine of protest Lucky would make if he stopped petting him) the blind man tilts his head upwards, his world on fire stretching out to scan Hawks and Paws. Everything's the same as usual - same couches, same scent of coffee, same faint rumble of canine heartbeats within the back of the store. What's a little different is the front desk, which not only is strewn with a catastrophic mess of paperwork, but is currently the bed of a certain Clint Barton. The man's slouched upon it from his desk chair, arms crossed on the table and his head resting atop of them, face hidden behind the sleeves of his hoodie.

Ah... that's not going to be very helpful right now. Matt had specifically come here to do his job, after all - Clint had basically hired him (with money, coffee and dog treats) to help sort out his paperwork. The lawyer had arrived here almost immediately after his day job, the only delay coming from the fact that he'd taken Deuce back to his apartment, just to minimise any distractions himself and Clint may have whilst they go through such a tedious task. But instead, the deaf man's snoozing, and Matt can't help but let out a weary sigh with a small smirk.

Well, it's not exactly the end of the world. Matt can just sit on one of the couches and pet Lucky whilst he waits for the end of Clint's nap. In fact, he moves to do just that, white cane guiding the way... only to pause, his head tilting back towards the archer as he picks up on something.

Clint's making these... noises in his sleep. Probably because he's dreaming, Matt assumes, but regardless of the reason behind them, they definitely have his attention. They sound like words, slurred and not understandable, or sometimes even just straight up whimpers. Clint's arms curl in tighter around his head, and that's when Matt makes haste towards his friend, going behind the desk to be beside him.

Yep. Definitely a nightmare, judging by the racing heartbeat during his sleep. Matt was going to talk to Clint, try to ease him awake that way, but the lack of faint buzzing in the air informs him that the archer isn't wearing his hearing aids. In that case, there's only one other option... As gently as possible, Matt slides one of his hands onto Clint's arm, softly squeezing, hoping to get some kind of response.

He gets one alright. Eyes snapping open, the archer's head shoots upwards, a panicked cry springing from his lips. With said cry, a fist goes flying Matt's way, Daredevil instinctively dodging backwards to evade it with split seconds to spare. he senses the vibrations of Clint's fist connecting with the wall behind him (narrowly avoiding the corded phone attached to it) sending a jolt through the deaf man's entire body from the shock of it.

The two men stand and sit respectively for a brief moment, silent and trying to get their hearts to lessen in speed at least a fraction. Matt didn't know what he was expecting, but a punch was certainly not one of his guesses. Regardless, he tunes his world on fire back onto Clint, concern lacing into his eyebrows in response. He could sense the panicky guilt from the archer from a mile away, the man still panting like he can't keep up with his own lungs, trying to breathe normally but unable to in such a state.

"Hey..." Matt begins in as calm a voice as he can muster right now, praying to God that Clint will read his lips, "Clint, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to wake you up from your nightmare. You're safe - I promise."

Carefully, the blind man slowly extends a hand forward, offering it to Clint for him to take should he want to. Why? Simple: Matt's lost control of his senses (thanks to his head injury) enough times now to know that touch can be a very powerful grounding tool. If you can feel the security of the floor beneath you, or if you can stroke the fur of a soft and loving dog, it can really help when it comes to easing stress and panic. So he offers his hand, hoping to not only use it as a way for Clint to ground himself, but he could also try to use his hand as a sort of guide for Clint's breathing. Maybe he can squeeze the archer's hand whenever he should take a breath, try to encourage him to slow it down and-

The deaf man hastily shoves Matt's hand away, springs off of his chair and disappears into the kitchen, slamming the door shut behind him. Said slam causes the blind man to jump out of his skin, a soft whine also emitting from Lucky, the dog just behind Matt, his one eye watching this all unfold. Daredevil remains still for a little while, trying to process that Clint has pushed him away for the third time this week... before a heavy, tired sigh escapes him. He gets a little lick to his palm in response, the blind man gently scratching Lucky behind the ears as he tries to figure out what to do right now.

He could follow Clint, but Matt feels that he'd be invading the archer's privacy if he does so. The deaf man clearly wants to be alone right now, so the lawyer's going to respect that wish. But he doesn't want to leave Hawks and Paws just yet - wants to at least stay long enough to let Clint know that he's there for him if he needs him. So the flames of his world on fire shift back to Hawkeye's front desk... and Matt decides that he might as well get a head start on his newest job. He props his cane up against the desk and gets to work.

Patiently running his hands over the paperwork, the blind man tries to see if he can decipher a difference between the papers. Maybe he can arrange everything into neat little piles, at least make it easier for himself and Clint later on. He manages to find a bunch of unopened letters, beginning to make a tidy pile for them... when his right foot knocks against something upon the floor. Pausing, Matt tilts his head in confusion, crouching down beside the object to pick it up. His flames swirl around it, dancing along the rectangular surface, the blind man carefully running a hand over the top of it too to trace it's outlines. It's small, wooden on the outside (and on it's back) but more paper-like within it's front centre. Said paper-like part has this distinct texture to it - smooth almost like glass, but much too flimsy to be actual glass. It reminds Matt of the feeling of photographs that used to come out of his disposable camera before he went blind, the lawyer briefly smiling from nostalgia, before focusing back on the object. There's a distinct edge between the wood and the presumed photo, implying that the wood is encasing it, allowing the picture to be the framed centre of attention.

Yeah, it's definitely a framed photograph, which certainly surprises Matt. Since when would Clint ever bother to frame something? Judging by his messy desk and his messy... well, everything, the archer really doesn't seem like the kind of guy who would go out of his way to get a photo displayed.

In that case... this must be a very important picture. Matt doesn't know what's in the photo (of course) and he knows today is certainly not the right time to ask the deaf man about it, but he can't help but be curious anyway. What's so important to Clint that he wants to keep it protected? Is it a picture of someone? His brother, maybe? Or it could just be a really cute picture of Lucky?

Regardless, Matt carefully places it back upon the desk, trying his best to position it so that the photograph will be facing Clint's chair. It's much safer up there than on the floor, after all. Once he's sure that the frame is in a good spot, the blind man returns to his original task: building that pile of letters he was creating earlier.

Clint still hasn't emerged from the kitchen yet. Hopefully he will with a little more time...

[🏹]

Turns out this week really doesn't want to get any better. Matt has visited Hawks and Paws every other evening or so, wanting to check in on Clint, make sure that he's alright. But the archer is just blatantly ignoring him by this point, or when he does speak to Matt (or anyone in that regard) his words are the bare minimum of what he has to say to get his point across and nothing more. It's gotten to the point where Matt has occasionally spoken to a customer on Clint's behalf in order to prevent them from getting too frustrated and leaving the store due to the archer's rudeness. Clint never thanked him for it - just disappeared into the kitchen for hours on end without any explanations as to why. He wasn't even drinking a lot of coffee anymore, just reeked of beer from the nights before...

Matt wasn't going to lie to himself and pretend that Clint wasn't annoying him - anyone else would've probably been pissed off enough to speak up about it. But maybe Matt's spent one too many years being taught to be a good, patient Catholic boy... or maybe he's just really stubborn. Regardless of the exact reason, the blind man refuses to give up on his friend. Despite that fact that this would probably be the perfect opportunity for Daredevil to walk away, for Matt to remove another complication from his life so he can lessen his web of lies... he doesn't want to anymore. The deaf man's not given up on Matt despite all of the shit they've gone through together, so the blind man feels it's only fair to return the favour. To stick by the archer's side. To be friends with this usually sweet ex-Avenger despite any anxieties it may cause him. So, whatever's going on with Clint, he just needs to ride it out, wait for the deaf man to feel ready to talk to him about it. Or maybe Clint will just miraculously go back to his usual smiley, goofy self one day soon... that would be nice.

Until then, Matt tries to prompt the archer from time to time, tries to ask him how he's doing today and if he needs help with anything. He only ever gets two types of responses: lies ("I'm fine.") or Clint just simply walking away from the conversation. Clearly, trying to talk to the deaf man normally isn't working... and that's when Matt gets an idea.

It's the final evening of the week when Matt enters Hawks and Paws with two Starbucks in his hands and a dog leash around his left wrist. He has to quickly remove said leash though, allowing Deuce to spring free and towards the bounding Lucky, the two dogs tangling together with glee. Matt chuckles softly at the sound of their paws against the tiles, tilting his head ever so slightly as he tries to locate the other human who should be somewhere in this room. He finds him easily: Clint is sat upon one of the couches, right hand raised in the air towards Lucky as if the archer had been surprised by his canine suddenly shooting away, before he drops said hand with a weary sigh.

Using his cane to help him, Matt takes a seat beside Clint on the couch, sliding the Starbucks cups onto the coffee table. Clint doesn't acknowledge him, just continues staring down at the floor, distant and uncaring. He really stinks of alcohol, Matt's nose wrinkling ever so slightly, though the lawyer tries his best to ignore the smell and to focus on what he came here to do; "Good evening."

Hawkeye ignores him (though, to be fair, he doesn't have his hearing aids in anyway). Matt continues regardless, trying to gently nudge Clint's knee with his own to get his friend's attention, "Sorry, this might sound weird... but could you give me your hands, please?"

The archer tilts his head further away from Matt, apparently trying to look anywhere but at him. The blind man sighs, before deciding to just go for it. If this plan doesn't work, then he has no idea what else he could possibly try...

Reaching out, Matt gently pulls Clint's hands up from his lap and to the centre between the pair of them. The deaf man grunts in protest, about to yank his hands away... but he pauses, tensing up dramatically, as Matt starts shaping his hands in specific gestures against Clint's own, trying his best to finger-spell what little letters he managed to learn of tactile sign language last night.

[W-H-A-T I-S W-] Matt manages to slowly spell out, but he can't quite remember what 'R' was supposed to be like. His eyebrows furrow in frustration, trying to remember faster. But instead of Matt figuring it out... Clint speaks.

His voice is a quiet, almost shy mumble as he turns his head back towards Matt: "You're... learnin' sign?"

The blind man smiles immediately, warm and bright, "Yes. Or I'm trying to, at least."

Silence briefly fills the air, the archer taking in this new information... before that quiet voice whispers a little, "I'm sorry..."

"Don't be-" Matt tries to politely begin.

Clint cuts him off, back to mumbling, "N-No, really... I'm sorry. And thank you for botherin' to learn sign. That's just... thank you, Matt."

The lawyer would normally have spoken then, saying that it wasn't a problem at all, trying to go for a kind and understanding approach. But Clint shifts a little uncomfortably in his seat, a slight spike in his heartbeat indicating that he still has more to say, a couple of his fingers loosely holding onto Matt's own from the hand the blind man was using to sign earlier. So the lawyer sits patiently, giving the archer time to gather his thoughts. He lets Clint gently cling to his hand, too - like when the deaf man had a nightmare, Matt knows how comforting touch can be. So if holding his hand helps Clint relax, then no way is the blind man's going to push him away. Especially not now after almost a week of silence.

The archer quietly starts talking, "I have... I dunno, 'rough patches', I guess. Most often 'round this time of year. I try to shove people away whilst I'm havin' 'em... an old friend once called it my 'running away thing', ha..." He shuffles uncomfortably again, before continuing, "I just... I keep havin' dreams... and memories and stuff I just wanna forget. And they won't go away no matter what I do..."

Huh... Matt can actually sympathise with that. He knows what it's like to be stuck awake at night, unable to sleep because your mind's spiralling with too much information that it's trying to process all at once. He imagines that Clint is going through something similar to that, where instead of an excess of information, it's an excess of memories he'd rather repress. And hey, Matt can sympathise with that last part too.

"Memories are... tricky." Matt begins, voice gentle and slow for Clint's sake (maybe a little bit of his courtroom tones sneaking in there too), "I also have ones that I wish I could forget. I remember when my dad died - I swear I can still hear the sirens from that day sometimes. I remember things from before I went blind, too... If I could just forget what the sky looked like, then I wouldn't have a reason to miss seeing it every day." Matt sighs a little, feeling Clint's fingers tighten ever so slightly around his own, before continuing on, "But, even though those memories are sad... without them, I wouldn't know how pretty the sky is. And I wouldn't have happier memories of my dad - I wouldn't remember his face, or what his boxing robe used to look and feel like."

Feeling that he's got his point across, Matt falls silent, giving Clint time to process his words. The archer stays quiet for a little while, thinking it through... before his mumbled tone can be heard: "Yeah... I guess so. Either way... thank you. For, um, puttin' up with me these past few days."

"Hey, you could have been a lot worse." The blind man playfully shrugs, "I don't know how I would cope if you were someone like Tony Stark."

At last, Clint cracks a little smile, a short chuckle even slipping past his lips. It's tiny, sure, but still very important, and has Matt's own grin almost doubling in size. Their entwined fingers stay together for a few brief seconds longer, before Matt gently frees his hand from Clint's own. He instead feels along the table for his Starbucks, picking it up and having a quick sip, which prompts Clint to take a swig of his own cup.

As the deaf man tilts his head back towards him, Matt guesses that Clint's probably about to thank the blind man for a third time ('you didn't have to get me a coffee' or something silly like that). So the lawyer quickly speaks first to prevent Clint from doing so, placing down his cup whilst he talks; "If you're feeling up to it... could you please teach me some sign? I looked into the alphabet last night, but I couldn't find many online resources for tactile."

The archer seems to light up at the mere question alone. The flames of Matt's world on fire bob rapidly up and down around Clint's head, before the deaf man awkwardly mumbles, "Nod- I just- I nodded... yeah..."

Their hands come together again, both of the two men smiling warmly despite the winter chill outside. In the background, their two dogs are currently sprawled upon the floor beside each other, having given up on play ages ago. Lucky is snoozing away, but Deuce's muzzle perks up, the canine's head tilting at the sight of the two humans doing something... strange. Strange as it is, it seems to make them happy, which gives Deuce enough incentive to leave them be (instead of approaching them for cuddles like it had originally intended to do).

Clint's week may finally be starting to look up.

[🦆🏹]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone wanna guess how long that edit took me? Answer: three days! But man, it was worth it - I was genuinely shocked by the difference in quality between the old chapters and the more recent ones. Writers, always look back on your old works; it's nice to take a moment to appreciate how far you've come, as I guarantee you'll find that you've improved your writing over the years. 😁


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